Friend At Night
by Iyeshana
Summary: Sequel, Prodigal Son. 1933. Having returned to Carlisle and adopted his lifestyle, Edward has finally redeemed himself. Until, that is, Rosalie becomes a member of his family, a constant source of frustration. There is reasoning behind her hostility.
1. Momentary Truce

F r i e n d A t N i g h t

Sequel to Prodigal Son

_AN: This is a sequel, but it can be read separately. The plots are separate, so it would be easy to follow. Takes place in 1933,_ _a few months after Rosalie's change, in Denali, Alaska. _

Chapter One: Momentary Truce

"It's a bit unnerving," Kate whispered to Esme. "She has very few problems with your lifestyle."

We watched from a distance as Rosalie was going to hunt again. While some of us were thirsty, _no one _wanted to be in her way when she attacked some poor animal. She had a lot of anger to take out, it seemed. Some of it even made me wince.

She was very fast. Not as fast as me, but still very fast. Her quick reflexes I noticed, and the way she was able to advance on the moose. It looked at her from where it stood in the bushes, moving out of the way to make room for her as if she deserved the vegetation more than it did. Once it realized she wasn't one of its kind, It froze, stopped in its tracks, trying to camouflage. But Rosalie knew it was done for. I suspect that it did, too. Her lips widened in a smile before she sprung forward, onto its back. A deafening crack alerted me that she had won, and her face pressed into the animal.

"Very interesting," Carmen affirmed. "I cannot smell a drop of blood other than what was originally in the animal. Nothing on the ground, at the very least."

Carlisle smiled, proud of his new daughter. "It's hardly difficult to watch her hunt. I hardly feel any desire..." he trailed off, but his thoughts finished the answer. _Any desire to kill her. _

That was a huge problem with watching while she hunted. If I watched Carlisle or Esme hunt, I would become territorial and start trying to fight for their kill. Originally, anyway, before I could find an animal to hunt myself. But here she was, hunting, keeping the blood under control so that we _could _watch.

"What an unusual ability," Eleazar declared.

Esme shook her head. "She has no abilities, as such. She just exhibits very diligent behaviour. It's the strength and will she had as a human, and it really helps on the hunt."

I heard many murmurs of agreement, and some of the girls nodded. Tanya remained still, eyes fixed on Rosalie. She wasn't enjoying the fact that her clan had a new respect for Rosalie. It almost overpowered their respect for _her. _Impossible, but that was what she was thinking.

-o--o-o--o-o--o-

"Really, Edward, you should be grateful of her," Esme said. "She makes very good company."

She couldn't realize how untrue that statement was. It nagged at me, especially the way Carlisle's thoughts echoed hers. _Sh_e _was practically designed for him...Beauty and intelligence...The capabilities of keeping him in check...And he's smart enough to keep her under control, too..._ It was perhaps the second or third time I'd heard his thoughts about Rosalie and I that way.

I didn't want to address it. It would be bad manners to say how much she annoyed me, especially when it wasn't her fault at all that she was irritating. I knew that her parents had brought her up this way. And Carlisle was determined to make it work between us, when I didn't love her at all. Not in the brother-sister way, not in the friendly way, not in the child way, not even in the love-hate way. It would take an effort for me to tolerate her, and many years of being polite.

There was no denying that Rosalie was intelligent. Very smart. But in the shallow capabilities. She had strong comprehension of languages, but found no entertainment through reading. And she preferred more delicate pieces of music to the ones with emotion. She liked the way art looked, hung on a wall, but not the compassion the artist had when creating it. She had no ability to look beyond the ordinary, everyday human emotion.

I waited in the house for her to come in, slam the door behind her, and waltz directly past me up the stairs. She might look at me, once she got to the top, or she might not. Then she'd take off her bloodied clothes from the hunt, and put on something suitable for entertaining. A beautiful dress, one that she saved from her old things.

"How was your hunt, Rosalie?" I asked her, just like every other odd day. When she went hunting, I always asked her. She would always have the same answer.

"It was dynamic," she replied. A new descriptive word, today.

She was only anything but one-dimensional when it came to her thoughts about blood. _Colourful, sweet. Hot, pulsing. Singing to me, calling for me to come..._

It was amazing that she ever kept it under control at all.

She was as passionate towards the hunt as the Denali girls were towards men. Them being former succubi, my point was quite clear. She had an addiction to blood, the taste of it, the same as I'd always had. For any of our kind, blood was an addiction that rivalled any other. Rosalie and I had one thing in common at least.

-o--o-o--o-o--o-

She was sharing a room with me in the house's attic now. Since so many people were in the coven now, there was hardly enough space for all of us.

I just wasn't completely sure that I could stay in the same room with Rosalie.

"What are you doing?" I asked her quietly. My voice was a little sharper than intended, too, which it always seemed to be lately.

"Putting my things in here," she said, just as smoothly and just as sharp. She laid her trunk down on the floor with a wooden thud. She still underestimated her strength, which was almost as annoying as it had been in the beginning. The slamming doors, the loud clicking of her shoes...The stomping up the stairs...The crashes of things falling to the floor...

"No, then there won't be enough room for my records." I felt my teeth clench together. The records were the only thing capable of drowning her out. Without them, living -in a matter of speaking- would be impossible.

"Sure there is," she said, a little rude, even for her. "If you just put them in here!" She picked all the records up in her arms, and stuffed them into the bottom of the trunk. I cringed at her in utter disgust and horror.

"Why don't you just throw those dresses out?" I asked, plainly annoyed. "Or, it would be my honour to get rid of them _for you._" I pulled one of her dresses out of the trunk, and motioned to the door. Downstairs there was a fireplace, and flames that would just _love _to eat the silk up.

She gaped, horrified. Her thoughts were screaming at me as I inched further and further towards the door.

"Put it down _now!_" She shrieked. It seemed I had hit a nerve this time.

"Why should I? You can't just run in and take over my life! My _things._" I spat the words more than spoke them. Could I actually run down the stairs and throw them in the fire. Yes. And not just because of my records. She was taking my _place. _

She stared at the bundle of fabric in my arms, and her eyes widened. She was thinking about every time she'd worn the coral-coloured, brocaded silk dress. It seemed childish to me, that she was thinking about Royce.

_Royce smiled at her_ _as she met his gaze confidently. Lifting her chin with the tip of his thick finger, he kissed her chastely. _

Such a sharp contrast to the images of Royce I was normally bombarded with through her.

_When she broke away from him to take a breath, he moved his lips to her chin, pulling a blonde curl from her face. Rosalie smiled at that, clutching the back of his neck firmly. He ran his finger down her collarbone, and left it gently on the capped sleeve of the bodice_.

Not wanting the memory to continue, I tried to tune out her voice. Though now, it seemed, she was throwing the images at me violently.

"It's all about him, then?" I asked impatiently, eager for images of the repulsive kiss to leave my mind. How could she still think of that fondly, when he'd destroyed her? It disgusted me, how he'd drawn her in and then taken advantage of her in such a manner.

"No, that's not _all it's about_!" She said mockingly, her mouth twisting. "Those are mine! Memories, just as your records are to you!"

"Records don't make me remember my murderer," I said acidly, tearing a layer of fabric off the dress in my arms. I threw open the door -the latch making a hole in the wall- and sprinted down the stairs.

She took off after me, carrying my records with her. "They'll melt as quickly as my dresses in the fire," She said, her hand moving to open the screen of the fireplace. One of the records dropped into it, bending as the flames licked the sides. I would have grabbed it, but while holding her dress it was impossible. She was too fast.

I ground my teeth together contemplatively. "Fine," I groaned. "You can have it _back. _Not that I see a point, since it's only Royce." The name sent the taste of venom to my tongue.

"You don't understand," She whispered, tossing the records smoothly onto the floor. I did the same with her dresses, thankful that we'd now come to a momentary truce. I mourned the record until I realized that it was older, and not one of the best.

"I understand _perfectly._ Royce was a thoughtless romance to you. And you can't accept that he would do this to you, because you love him."

Her eyes narrowed, eyebrows angling downward. "Not about _Royce._" She clicked her tongue in vexation, and rolled her eyes. "About me running in and taking over your life. Do you think I honestly _want _to be a vampire?"

I thought she had. It was apparent in the ways she used her talents tokill Royce and company, and her amazing ability to hone said skills. Besides that, she exhibited the remarkable self-control that was necessary for her to have the vegetarian lifestyle of Carlisle, Esme, and I. Then again, I supposed that had nothing to do with _wanting_ to be a vampire.

"I'll take that as a no," She said bluntly. "All I want right now is to go home to my mother, my father, my brothers, and tell them I'm fine. See Vera again, and ask her how her husband is finding her job and how her son's been doing."

When I didn't respond, she continued.

"I had my entire life planned out, and now everything is impossible."

My life had been just as planned as hers, I realized with a start. More so, though I'd never wanted a wife the same way she wanted a husband. My parents had worked to secure a future for me. And when I died, Carlisle saved me. If he hadn't I'd be dead. I'd never considered anything else, and his decision was very justified. I didn't really want my old life back. Not anymore, anyway.

"It's not impossible, Rosalie. You chose to live with us, chose not to be alone, and there are not many alternative choices. The alternatives being solitude and death, I think you've taken the best option. This life is not really so different from your old one." It surprised me how hopeful I sounded, especially since I had only just begun believing what I was now preaching. Not so long ago, I was the same as her. "You still have lots of time to make things happen for yourself."

"Lots and lots of time," she amended. It sounded grim, even to me. "But what am I supposed to do with all this time?"

She'd have lots of time to buy mirrors...And even more time to primp herself in them.

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "But we're going somewhere else soon. Carlisle's tired of Alaska, mostly tired of the girls hogging Esme. I have to admit that I'm quite tired of them, too."

She smiled for the briefest of moments. "So you don't have feelings for _Tanya?_"

Why did everyone ask me that? It's not as if I chose to have her attack me every day!

"I have told Tanya that my feelings remain purely plutonic, and she returns the same feelings." It sounded like the truth, but she would catch the lie. Tanya may eventually get over it, but Rosalie would still delight in the way Tanya's eyes followed mine.

"I don't believe you," she said firmly as she made her way back up the stairs. Sitting on the bed, she tapped her fingernails on the frame out of habit.

"Well, I won't mention Royce again if you fail to bring Tanya up in conversation." That should make my existence a little less painful.

"Deal. But first you have to replace my dress. And anything else you may have instinctively broken," she said sharply. A few things came to mind. Like a vase that I had smashed one night. I had been under the impression that she hadn't noticed that.

"Then you have to replace my record!" I shouted angrily.

"No deal. You play them too loudly. And since I can't just fall into an unconscious slumber whenever I wish, I need the peace and quiet." She enunciated the syllables with impatience.

"You could have had all the peace and quiet you wanted in a grave," I said with annoyance. My nose wrinkled at the scent of the perfumes she was pulling out of the trunk. Essence of roses. How could I not have guessed? And what need would she have of them?

"Be quiet," She hissed.

And for once, I could not have agreed more.

-o--o-o--o-o--o-

_AN: So that was essentially the introduction to the entire story. I could really use some reviews for this one, especially concerning errors. Also, if there was something you liked in particular, I'd love for you to tell me. _

_The title is referring to another parable_. _The parable of the _Friend At Night _is where the phrase comes from "do unto others as you would have them do unto you". I think this is a good way of showing how Rosalie and Edward grow to become friends. Also, A parable seemed appropriate since _The Prodigal Son_ is a parable. _

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and this colossally long author's note! :)_


	2. Thoughtless

_AN: The second chapter, complete with some more Rosalie, and Tanya. I wanted to incorporate the Denali girls before Breaking Dawn changed my opinion of them :) And the first interrogation part is based on reality._

Chapter Two: Thoughtless

Carlisle tapped his fingers quickly on the varnish of the wood. Esme, from his right side, looked at me intently. Her eyebrows were pressed downward, but it seemed...wrong. Almost like someone foreign lifting a chisel to a Michelangelo, tweaking the eyebrows 'just so'.

I sat in the leather armchair. Facing them, unfortunately. Like I was being interrogated, only I hadn't done anything wrong. And I wanted to confess to whatever they thought I did.

I was thankful for the fact that the Denali coven had vacated their house. And unthankful at the same time. Maybe one of them could have stood as my defence.

Rosalie was sitting on the sofa to my left, on the far side of it and angled away from me. If she was going to try to play victim here, it wasn't going to work. Esme and Carlisle knew me better than they knew some selfish, pompous, arrogant _child. _

"Edward, you know exactly why we're doing this." Esme broke the growing silence in a way that didn't seem harsh, if only because of the already steady hum of their voices in my head. She was looking directly at me, and I knew what that meant. They'd chosen a side, now, and it wasn't mine.

"No, I don't," I countered. "You shouldn't continue to waste my time. Whatever it is that you think I've done, I can assure you is completely Rosalie's fault."

Carlisle shook his head, and then lifted it more prominently so that he could look me in the eye. The gold irises suddenly seemed darker, though not from thirst. "Very mature, Edward." _I expected more from him. Surely he understands why the Denali coven aren't in their own house. I doubt I've ever heard anything like the madness they put the house through last night..._

Immediately, the details clicked into place. I hadn't thought that anyone had heard my exchange with Rosalie the previous night, but that was foolish. Who _couldn't _have heard the shouting, arguing, and screaming? Most of it had been on Rosalie's part, which would of course lead them to believe that I was the cause. And he said _I _was being immature.

Rosalie sighed, her arm moving to support her chin. She pushed it up with her fingertips, and looked at him sideways. "I admit to being a little bit -how should I put this- _unreasonable_ at times. Nonetheless, I do believe that I have an excuse, whereas Edward has had time to overcome his issues. I'm still a baby by your standards, and I reserve the right to act like one."

I rolled my eyes at her, then looked away. _She has a point, _Carlisle thought. For a rare instant, Esme's thoughts did not echo his own. She was thinking that I had to go through more than her, and that she should try to act her age. I smirked at that, but did not sense an easy victory.

"Dammit, Rosalie!" I said piercingly. "This is not all my fault!"

Esme clutched at the sleeve of Carlisle's coat, but leaned forward. Her body was purposefully aimed towards me, as if she might need to either restrain or comfort me as deemed necessary.

My father -it was easier accepting him in the role during times like this- was leaning with his body pressed entirely into the back of the love-seat. "Can't you be kinder to the lady, Edward?" he mumbled. "I thought you sorted that out last night." _It sure sounded like he cleared space for her, anyway, _He thought,_ He threw out half her wardrobe. Maybe the arguments will be good for them. It might help them learn to get along..._

_They really shouldn't act like this, _Esme thought in her motherly, light voice. _Especially not when they are so similar. Perhaps that is why they don't get along, with them both being so hot-tempered. Still, a good talking to should straighten them up. _

_At least someone recognizes that I'm a lady, _Rosalie thought smugly. That one threw me over the edge my temper was clinging to. As thin as the edge was, I usually managed to hold onto it longer than this.

"Thank you for the instruction on treating ladies with kindness, Carlisle," I said stiffly, "though I don't know how I shall apply that here. When I actually meet one, I shall treat her with the same kindness I save for Esme."

He looked taken aback by that. _He's serious, _Carlisle's thoughts accepted the thing I'd known since meeting her. That she was not the sort of girl a person like me would consider falling in love with. Love wasn't something that happened with spontaneity, it was carefully calculated. Someone who needed such maintenance could not be right for me.

"Of course I'm serious, Carlisle," I said quietly, though sternly at the same time. I couldn't meet his gaze, though, not to save my 'life'. "We were _fighting. _It wasn't a lover's spat!"

When I looked up to meet the deep gold, I noticed the sparkling corners. While vampires could not shed tears, his eyes were sparkling as if tears were moulded into the gold. Very hard to look at, and harder still to look away from.

"I just thought..." he looked down, awkwardly pulling his eyes from mine. "I thought you could make the right choice, Edward."

Rosalie was staring at us all in amazement. _He doesn't...he never...How could he not have considered...? Not once, not a single time? _Her rambling thoughts were a severe distraction.

"As much as you might think yourself an expert on the subject, I think this is the one choice for me that you haven't thought much about." My tone was sharper than intended. "Or was that precisely the point? Were you trying to hide from me what you were doing?"

"Edward, please..." Esme muttered from my side. She'd gotten up from the love-seat to take one of my hands in her own. Her soft grip would have been comforting any other time.

The words about to fall from my lips were the kind that could cut. I hadn't been so sharp for a long time, and this time it hurt. Not just me, either.

For a second, my eyes started cruelly into Rosalie's. Her eyes judged mine, as mine did hers. And then my regard was for Carlisle, and all of his considerations. This was the one time I wished he'd left me alone.

"How could you even think for a _moment _that I wanted Rosalie Hale?"

Rosalie whipped herself up straight from the sofa, her chest rising as she tried to inhale and exhale. Her lips were pursed tight, and I could hear the faint sound of her teeth squeezing together.

_He doesn't _want _me, _she thought again and again in a fretful voice. Even as she walked down the hall and up the stairs to the attic, I could still hear the broken worries. Despite my best efforts, I could still hear her.

"Do you have any idea what you've done now?" Carlisle hissed through his teeth."Any inkling?"

"Considering that I can hear her thoughts, I will have to say yes." I was the impatient one now. Especially knowing that I'd done wrong. She was hurting, I could hear it. Her feelings -whatever they were- were strong, if hidden. I dared not admit that Carlisle had been correct in some way, but now she was paying the price.

Esme gave me stern and very disappointed look. "She was used to having everything and every_one, _Edward. It's like you just told her she was poor, or unattractive. Or both. Now she thinks she's defective in some way, just because of what you said."

"How do you know?" I demanded, frustrated now that I sensed defeat.

"A mother's intuition." she tapped her temple with a grim smile. "Could you please go speak with her? A friendly discussion couldn't hurt, as long as you keep the noise down."

I nodded solemnly, and began to walk out of the room. I heard it, then, her mind's voice inside my own.

_Don't destroy the house, either, my son. The Denali coven has been so kind to share it with us, but if you ruin any more furniture, or put holes in any more walls...Just be kind._

_Thank you, mother, _I thought back. But she couldn't read minds.

-o--o-o--o-o--o-

_Go away, Edward, _Rosalie thought from behind the door.

"I just wanted to apologize," I began to explain. Should I abandon my attempts, or try anyway? Maybe she needed me to wait my turn, bide my time...I was supposed to be a part of her family. A comforter. Even being her love would be better than being a demon meant to torment.

"Of course you do," she chided. "Your words were completelythoughtless." She laughed mirthlessly. "Being a thoughtless mind reader _is_ a little ironic."

"May I come in?" I waited for her response.

None came.

"Rosalie?" No thoughts. I cracked the door open, waiting for the screams if she was indecent. There weren't any, so I walked into her -our- attic room.

She was just lying there, on the floor, with her head on a pillow. Her blonde curls fanned around her head. Pursed, her mouth looked like a pale rosebud just above her chin. Beautiful, maybe, if not for the disgust it revealed.

"You know, if the wind changes..." I smirked.

"What was that?" Rosalie's eyes were still closed. Her mouth moved slowly, like it wasn't worth the effort. "I thought you didn't want me. Not even my conversation." Her grimace deepened, lips pressing in a tight line. Her eyebrows were angled sharply downward.

I sighed along with her, taking a seat on the floor. Only I was on the other side of the room, across from her. The wood panels on the floor looked darker and colder, suddenly.

"You know I didn't mean it like that, Rose..." I trailed off having looked at her face, which hadn't changed a bit. Displeasure lined it, and shocked me. I should have expected as much, since it was her usual way. Instead, it angered and frustrated me.

"How exactly do you mean it, then?" She snapped. Her eyes shot open in one quick and violent motion. "And _don't _call me that! My father used to call me that stupid pet-name."

"I meant that..."I paused to think, and it took a while before I knew what to say. Maybe it was worth the endeavour_,_ even if it meant admitting that she was right. I could be quite thoughtless, assuming I knew everything about everyone, when I only knew a moment of their thoughts.

I started over. "That you're a great..._friend._" Acquaintance, really. Though I knew that saying she was a friend, or saying she was an acquaintance, neither would help the situation. She resented me, now, and there was nothing I could truly do about it.

"You're the first person to tell me that," She said, but not happily. _They all wanted the beauty. The prize. All but him. _

I suddenly realized that my head had come to rest between my knees, eyes staring down into the dark, aging wood. It looked less sinister than her eyes."You're not a prize," I said, a little more intense than necessary. She looked startled, but not angry. The comment seemed more suited to what she'd expect from a man, mortal or immortal. A man who wanted her, even as an...acquaintance.

More quickly than I expected, her face shifted. Her eyebrows narrowed sarcastically, dissatisfied. "Well aren't you the most considerate person in the world..." Her voice dragged, but she finally smiled. "But not half bad for a friend."

I shook my head. "Friend sounds too _agreeable._"

"Brother, then," she compromised. "That way we can still argue. I really don't like you, you know."

"I _do _know," I laughed. "I really don't like you, either."

-o--o-o--o-o--o-

When the Denali coven came back the next day, I realized that my problems had far from disappeared. Tanya was very upset about the recent "outburst", as she liked to call it, for more than one reason.

She was mad firstly that we'd more or less ruined large areas of "her" house. The attic room had a couple holes in the wall, which Esme and then Irina had reminded me about. Of course, when Tanya found out she all but threw a fit -at Rosalie. To me she just said it was "not a problem", and that she could fix it herself if she wasn't so busy.The living room fireplace still had a few bricks missing, though, from where my fist had met the stone.

The second reason why she was upset had to do with Tanya's increasingly vulgar thoughts. Not intentional, certainly, but coarse just the same. It was my relationship with Rosalie. The fact that we were close -in her imagination- was driving Tanya completely mad. And myself, incidentally. She seemed to be thinking that I was chasing Rosalie, which was the opposite of truth.

Tanya told us a few times that we were "welcome to leave". Not to myself, but to Carlisle, to Esme, and most certainly to Rosalie. It led us to believe that we had overstayed our welcome. Esme was convinced that we should be giving more than we were currently receiving.

Of all she seemed to do, nearly kicking us from the house, Tanya seemed reluctant to show me the door. And for reasons unknown to me. Sometimes, even when you know thoughts, you can never possibly comprehend the reasoning behind them.

"We've hardly had any time to talk!" Her voice, normally laced with the attempt to seduce, now only seemed whiney. More aggravating than ever. The corners of her mouth were drooped while her bottom lip still stuck out unattractively.

"About what?" I demanded, not even caring how my own voice sounded. On a normal day, when I was not so irritable, it would really have bothered me how offensive I was being. She was the hostess, so shouldn't I be grateful of her? No, the mental pictures were too strong and distracting.

"About you staying," she murmured. "With me. With us."

The details seemed to fit this time. One more piece, added to the mental puzzle which I was compiling. Grand, so large that I couldn't see the edges. The picture was still so blank and empty, even if some pieces had began to assemble. I didn't like what I was starting to see. Not one bit.

"That's what you were doing," I muttered, to myself more than her. I was answering her thoughts this time, and my assumptions. "Making Rosalie feel unwelcome so that I would stay. So that she wouldn't stay with me."

"Yes," she agreed. Her shamelessness was startling.

"Why?" My voice raised. We were all wrong, and she knew it. She knew, deep down, that even if I was attracted to her, there was no response. No chemistry, no magic, no life. Our connection was not beyond friendship, to me, and she had no reason to believe that it _could _be.

"Nothing fits," I added offhandedly, running my mind back through the puzzle analogy. That was the one I went back to the most, though I should have started thinking of more. Melodies, songs, stories, other analogies that were more practical and held more interest. Tanya also held no interest to me.

Her eyelids drooped a bit, and she blinked rapidly. Although I could hear it in her thoughts, and although she knew how I felt, she said it anyway. And it changed everything. "You could be my mate."

"_I'm not playing," _I recalled saying to her, not too long ago. _"I'm not even sure if I'm in the same game that you are." _

I shook my head, still trying not to seem biased. She was nice, kind enough, and pretty. Maybe even beautiful. But she was not for me, and I was not for her. I tried to see past everything, into a deeper more complex part of her mind. Her feelings towards me were only a shadow, two-dimensional, with no true depth.

My hair fell in front of my face, and I pushed it back with one finger, trying to look at her.

"I don't see it," I said, "or feel it. What you're thinking, seeing, feeling...it isn't strong enough to truly be there. And it doesn't even exist in _my_ mind."

"_Who else is there?_" She hissed. Her teeth were pushed back, almost in a snarl. "_Rosalie?_"

From somewhere behind me, Rosalie came between us, dwarfing Tanya. The smirk on the taller woman's face showed her response, even if I hadn't heard it.

"Don't be _ridiculous_," Rosalie said, holding back a laugh. "Little Edward doesn't like me, either. Honestly, I've never even seen him _look _at other girls. Have _you_? Are you worried?"

Tanya raised her head defiantly. "Of course not. Why should_ I _care?" Her thoughts told me otherwise, though. They were screaming how much she _did _care. Tanya was nearly as bad as Rosalie when it came to what others thought of her. And when it came to me, she was twice as bad.

Rosalie shrugged, then turned to look at me. Esme and Carlisle had gathered in the porch, holding suitcases full of Rosalie's unnecessary and extravagant belongings.

Esme looked at me extravagantly, but Carlisle turned away. He didn't want to intrude on Tanya and I, as much as he didn't want to intrude on _Rosalie_ and I.

I wished _someone _would intrude.

Tanya looked at me, and her eyes pierced mine. _I'm not the begging sort of person, Edward. _

But _I _felt like begging her to let me leave. Was it guilt that riddled me, or annoyance? It wasn't the impossible affection she had for me, to be certain. And I didn't like the feeling. It rose through me like a perpetual fog, and then started to weigh me down. Unbearably, I began to sink.

"Tanya, I-" I felt my mouth saying, before thinking, but I never got to finish my thought. A deafening shriek rang from the stairs, where Irina had cried out after ripping precious lace curtains to scraps. How one could manage that, I couldn't be certain. Whichever, Tanya now had some cleaning to do besides the already expanding list of tasks at her hands.

"If you'll excuse me, Edward, I have some housekeeping to do." Then, looking at Carlisle she said, "I trust you know where the door is?"

He nodded brusquely, then looked quickly from Tanya to me, and me to Tanya. His eyes then trailed to Rosalie's with obvious impatience. In his mind, things were moving too slowly for him. Even though he knew things with Rosalie and I were not moving in the direction he wanted.

_He better not be getting any ideas, _Rosalie thought firmly, which made me smile. Agreeing again, despite everything. We were very much alike, it seemed, even with the more obvious differences. Following her first thought, her mind drifted to her reflection in the glass of the intimidating front door.

My mind drifted back to her comment earlier in the day. She had called me a thoughtless mind-reader, and that was now proving to be true. All of the people that I thought I knew inside-out were now proving me wrong. I had thought Rosalie wasn't capable of being offended by me not wanting her, and was wrong. I had thought Tanya was vying for everyone's attention, but was only vying for my own. And now, Carlisle gave me no insight into his own mind, which he was being particularly careful about.

Esme, sweet Esme, wanted whatever Carlisle wanted, which I didn't know right now. And that meant that I was wrong again.

I was a thoughtless mind-reader. I didn't know anything. And this time, I had failed to think things through.

-o--o-o--o-o--o-

_AN: Thanks for reading, and I'd love some thoughts on this chapter. Feedback for this story in general has been extremely poor. Just let me know what you thought, liked, disliked, and it will make my day! (2 days and several hours until Breaking Dawn!)_

_(If you want to see a drawing I did because I'm looking forward to BD, check out my deviant art page under the name Iyeshana.)_


	3. Planning

Chapter Three: Planning

_I can't believe this, _I thought, but then I realized that I hadn't said it aloud.

"I can't believe this," I nearly shouted.

There, in front of me, amidst the other beautiful furniture in the house was something I hadn't seen for a while. Weeks. I wanted to hug Esme, but then I'd have to walk away from it.

The grand piano was standing beautifully in the centre of the living room. _My_ piano. The keys gleamed dully in the light from the window, and suddenly all else was forgotten. Ebony and Ivory were mine again, in illustrious, beautiful harmony.

I heard Rosalie snort from behind me. "He looks at that thing like it's his _lover_."

Esme shushed her. What an angel my mother was sometimes. She had already shipped the piano from Rochester to here, which was a genuine surprise. Most furniture and other such things had stayed in Rochester while we were in Alaska. But now, here it was, my companion, my friend... As much as I hated to admit it, Rosalie was right. In all ways but the literal sense, the piano _was _my lover. It _was _my love, right now. A family member, more so than she was.

It resembled me. It resembled us, the family. Before Rosalie, that is. We used to be members of a complete unit that could exist in such a harmony, but now...Rosalie was like a single note out of tune. It ruined the masterpiece, shifted it, such that now it was still a complete unit, yet the strings needed to be tightened.

Carlisle stopped to put his hand down hard on my shoulder. "I can see you study the music the way _I _study medicine. If you are as diligent as I suspect, this could be very prosperous for you." I turned on the piano bench -which I had sat on without noticing- to look at him. He was smiling enough that his eyes squinted a bit. Esme was grinning ear-to-ear, her eyes closed angelically. Once again I couldn't help but make that comparison.

Rosalie was just standing tall by the stairs, not quite leaning on the railing. She was leaning forward a bit, but back enough to fain lack of interest. Her eyes were cold with...jealousy, perhaps? Yes, that's what her thoughts were saying. She had never been taught piano, instead taught things she deemed useless, like painting. She enjoyed looking at the mechanics of the instrument–the strings and keys in their strange alignment. Of course, she had never been aloud the pleasure of studying one.

"This specific piece of art has already proved to be ...prosperous, as you put it." I laid my hand gently on the keys so that I would not accidentally harm one, and then ran them over each. Ivory, ebony, ivory, ebony... Finally I found the upper keys, where I began playing the composition I'd written for Esme. It was unnamed, as I had yet to think of a title which completely encompassed her.

It was hitting high e's and f's, moving down and up at a quick, feather-light pace. It was so familiar, given that there were some benefits to being a cold, hard, blood-drinker. No memory loss. Though I hadn't played the piece in what seemed like such a long time, it now flowed easily.

There was stark precision in the melody. The same keys, over and over, yet played in the intricate pattern that I hoped did not sound boring. That was the left hand, though. The right played a free-flowing design that was as intricate as the other. And both hands combined to form the true melody in between it all. Like a third hand, in the centre you could hear the simple balance of the two patterns. Beautiful and high, echoing up into the ceiling.

That was what Esme was. Precision, on one hand, so much so that it almost made me burst at times. She was dead-set on her regulations and mediation most of the time. There were the other times when she was so free spirited and fun to be around. A true joy.

The two parts her together –the mediator and the fun loving parts– produced everything which _was_ her. The middle part of the melody, gentle and sweet, was everything she was to me. She wasn't _too _harsh or _too _relaxed, she was perfect. She was a mother.

I was well aware of the watching eyes and listening ears. When one had enhanced senses, there was very little one did not see or hear. Usually, by now, they would have left me to my playing. Before Rosalie, anyway.

"A renowned tune," Carlisle professed proudly, his voice showing a smile. "I missed hearing this one." He had moved closer to Esme. I was watching as I played, now. They embraced each other romantically to my left.

Rosalie hadn't heard this one before. She hadn't heard me play _anything _before. I noticed her eyes now that mine had travelled from the keys. My fingers did not halt at her appraisal of my ability. Perhaps not my _ability_, as such, but maybe the intrusion of the sound into her thoughts. She was thinking in great detail how she compared to the Denali girls. Or rather, how they _didn't _compare to her.

Esme's mouth was a little 'o' as she looked at Rosalie's expression. It was a mixture of curiosity and displeasure –as usual– and that seemed to startle her. "Rosalie hasn't heard you play before!" Esme exalted. Rosalie was considerably less excited.

"No, she hasn't," I said. It was a statement of fact, not an invitation. I didn't particularly want to have her listen and pick out the individual things I did wrong. Or right, depending on how it went. In Rosalie's case, the less I was actually around her, the less I would have to deal with unnecessary and shallow thoughts floating around in my head.

"Would you like me to play you something, Rosalie?" I asked, honestly hoping she would say no. I wanted the time alone with my piano, as foolish as it sounded. I wanted to play until the following morning, and maybe not even stop then. I had an eternity to practice and perfect.

She shook her head, and I breathed a sigh of relief. "No, I don't. I want to _learn _something."

All other pairs of eyebrows in the room –including my own– shot up in surprise. She wanted to learn something, rather than correct. It was strange and unheard of. Quite possibly it was a joke or her way of making fun of me.

"Learn what?" I asked stupidly.

"How to _play _the thing," she said firmly. Her thoughts were showing no dishonesty or deceit. But half a second later I heard her mutter things like _incompetent_ and _thoughtless_.

"Um...okay..." I don't think I'd ever stuttered before then. Maybe once or twice, in truly shocking situations. Never over something like giving someone piano lessons. Then again, it had never been _Rosalie. _

I moved over on the bench, and she sat next to me. She was being very shy...almost _cowardly _and her eyes were looking downward at the keys. I was looking straight down at her, surprised at what I was seeing. As if not to infringe on the private moment, Carlisle and Esme had ghosted out of the room. Perhaps if I hadn't heard their thoughts, it would have worked.

"The piano is an instrument consisting of hammers and strings," I said, motioning for her to stand. She looked inside the grand's frame and I pressed a key. She nodded as the hammer struck the string and it produced a sound.

"I knew _that,_" she said in a slightly arrogant manner.

"Oh, really?" I raised an eyebrow. She did know, but she also had no right to stop me when I was in the middle of teaching. If she wanted to learn, she'd have to listen to the lecture as if I was her professor. There was a reason why people gave lectures in the first place.

"Yes," She said, suddenly sounding more noble than she normally did. She made a little waving gesture with the back of her hand, and I moved on the bench to make room. She breathed, and closed her eyes, trying to remember something. Sighing with almost human frustration, she seemed to be resigning. Until, that is, she pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin a bit.

Her fingers stiffened over the keys, and she moved to press her right thumb on Middle C. She almost did, before I put my hand under his, blocking her movement. "Gently," I whispered. "Carefully. You are human no longer. Strength may have applied to playing at one point, but now only subdued playing will work."

She nodded, understanding my words and actually _listening_. What a change of pace from her normal recluse behaviour. Well, not mountain moving, but a big enough change.

_Right, _she thought. And for a moment I forgot that it_ was _a thought. She was saying it very clearly, seeming to address me in one single syllable. How bizarre. Rosalie never _spoke _to me in her thoughts. She hardly spoke to me out loud.

Middle C, she touched it more cautiously with her thumb, and then touched D with her index finger, and E with her middle finger. Sliding her thumb under her third finger she touched F with her thumb, then G with her index finger, A with her middle finger, B with her ring finger, and finally C with her little finger. It was slower than I would have played, but smooth. And I was very, _very _surprised.

The simplest of all scales, and only one octave. Yet this time Rosalie had me more astounded than I had been in quite a while. Her parents never would have allowed her to play. It was impossible.

"How did you...?" She shushed me with a shake of her head.

"I was never _taught _to play, but I always wanted to learn," her voice took on the nostalgic tune of a narrator, perhaps, or just some other girl with a tragic story. I had thought she had finished with those. Although I could hear what she was about to say before she said it, she still wanted to hear the sound of her own voice.

"Father used to play sometimes with his more wealthy friends. We were very lucky to even own a piano in such hard times, not that I necessarily saw it that way." She smiled, and then continued. "But ever since I layed eyes on the thing, I wanted to know how it worked. Still haven't had the pleasure of taking one apart though!" She laughed at my expression, pained to the extreme.

"But that still doesn't explain–"

"Let me finish, Edward," She scoffed. "I've revelled in your musical genius for a couple hours now. I think it's time I had a turn."

I nodded, and she started again. This was going to be a long one, I figured, by the tone of her voice.

"So I wanted to play but was definitely not going to be allowed to play." She turned toward me, rather than gazing distantly as she spoke. "You remember my brothers Marcus and Brent, right?" I nodded. "Brent was too young to learn, but Marcus took a piano lesson. It was only one, though, since he didn't have the patience. Father told him that girls like boys who were musical, and he actually believed it!"

I nodded _again, _slightly annoyed at my sudden and forced silence.

"So then I..." She stopped, staringoff and trying to think. _So then I did _what _exactly? I remember the scale a bit. It's fuzzy, though. Very...smoky. So unclear. What did I do?_

"It's a human memory, Rosalie." I touched her shoulder, attempting a comforting gesture. It was just so _awkward _with her. The look she gave me, the accusation and sudden triumphant grin. _His hand..._

"Human. Simplicity." She shrugged away my hand and the thought. "It was just so _easy. _Not that long ago, and it feels like an eternity! How long until I can remember nothing at all?"

I smiled grimly. "It's actually surprising that you can remember that much, let alone a piano scale. When Esme first gave me the piano, I couldn't even remember ever being able to play."

"I suppose that's true. Maybe I'm some sort of prodigy." Her words were wryand sarcastic.

"Hardly," I shot back. We both stared each other down for a second, and then fought back laughter. "Do you want to learn piano or not?"

She shrugged indifferently. "A couple scales. No, wait, enough to keep me occupied until morning."

I fought the urge to say something rude to her. Scales were my least favourite. If anything, I only liked the definite rhythm, and that only came with practice. She wouldn't need much practice, at this rate, but still. Scales had no tune, no emotion, only created by songwriters who wanted something to study. Logical thinkers, not artistic minds.

"I suppose that's reasonable. We can start C Major with two hands, since you can already play the right. The pattern for the right hand –which you already seem to know– is 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5."

I stopped for a moment to allow her the chance to think it over. She processed, looking as if she had just been told a secret code to crack.

"What are the numbers for?" She asked.

Of course. "There's a number for each finger. 1 is thumb, 2 is index, 3 is middle, 4 is ring, and 5 is little. Same on the other hand."

She raised and lowered her head as she pictured her right hand moving over the keys. Over and over, until she had it memorized. It was already committed to memory the first time she thought it, but she wasn't quite used to vampire tendencies yet.

"The pattern of the left hand is–"

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 3, 2, 1."

"Correct," I mentally congratulated her. It was not overly impressive for someone with her age and ability to learn a C Major scale, not in the slightest, but she was picking up the things I said with remarkable speed. Of course, memorization was a huge part of piano playing, and with that out of the way...

"C Major down. How many more to go?" She was grinning. A grin for Rosalie was only a small stretch of her lips, but still. Her head was swelling, though, and that I had to put a stop to.

"Quite a bit more. And, of course, the pattern gets more complicated when you add more octaves." Which was completely true. It was also true that I was trying to overwhelm her. I was slightly upset that she was taking to the instrument. Though, knowing Rosalie _and _her mind, once she figured she understood the way every piece of the instrument worked, she would give up on it completely. And she didn't have any _natural _talent, everything aside.

"Jealous, Edward?" The corner of her lip twitched slightly, but moved no more.

"No_. _Just trying to think of a tune you might like." Now I had to _actually _had to think of something for her to play, before she quickly realized that I _was _jealous, the entire time. "Debussy?"

She shook her head vigorously with disgust.

"Maybe something a little more...classic? Bach? Beethoven?"

She appeared bored _and _indifferent.

"_Fur Elise_? No. Perhaps something entirely different." She wouldn't know the difference between two compositions. Not besides the emotion, note patterns, and rhythm. There was so much _more _to the music than that. The raw power music could have over a person, for one. The composer and piece's origin for another. I would have to teach her some theory after this. "What about _Pachelbel's Canon_?"

"Never heard of it," she said honestly. Perfect. It wasn't too difficult when you were a vampire, even if you were playing piano for the first time. It was simplistic in tune, too, not too much emotion. Transparent on the surface, just like her. Only now I knew there was a little bit more

I showed her the beginning of the piece, very slowly, and deconstructed every interval, every sharp, and every flat. I showed her how to add to the notes. Embellishments such a trills, other ornaments. Things that no first time student should be learning, but I taught her. And she listened, and thought, and soaked the information like a porous sponge.

I told her how she needed to think about the intent of the piece, whether it was for dance, setting, or romance. There was a specific reason why the composer would write music, after all. And she played it in different styles until she found what she thought fit. And it did.

We moved onto discussing the music of specific periods. I believed that music was moving with people. As we modernized, so would the music. She disagreed. Firmly. Rosalie thought that music was a fad, like clothing or other annoying trends. She _believed_ that it would move back and forth through the times. Whatever matched the theme of the day. She made me roll my eyes sometimes.

Bit by bit, piece by intricate piece, we constructed the entirety of _Pachelbel's Canon_. It really was the two of us, producing our own version of the opus. With her argumentative inclination and my constant criticism and ability, we both managed to make it better than before.

And we moved onto other compositions. Even the ones she didn't like. The grandfather clock tolled eight times before I decided I rather enjoyed teaching, even if it was _Rosalie. _Or perhaps the reason why I enjoyed it was that she was my scholar. A quick learner who didn't frustrate me too much. If I ignored her random mental satire, that is.

We were moving backwards, to the scales I should have taught her _before _showing her how to play compositions. It was a bit idiotic to teach like that, I guessed. She appeared to be more interested in the technical aspect of the music, rather than the lyrical aspect. Which was fine, for her, but rather boring for me. Didn't she want to learn a few Sonatinas before this was all done?

There were a couple benefits to teaching Rosalie besides expanding my musical opinions and knowledge. It was a sensible distraction, when I would normally have to block out Carlisle and Esme who were upstairs. I still did, but at least now I had multiple things to occupy my mind. The piano, Rosalie's mind, the cords, the compositions. Anything was better than thinking of the...well not _newlyweds, _but perhaps the definition was different among our kind. Their passion had certainly not changed.

"So you're _still _not going to let me take the instrument apart, are you?" Rosalie inquired very seriously. She _couldn't _be serious, though. "I mean, I showed my musical knowledge and appreciation! And I'll put it back together in _perfect _condition when I'm finished."

"Absolutely not. That is not negotiable." I gave her a look which would convey my thoughts on the subject _perfectly. _

She thought for a second about how to change my mind for a second, and quickly gave up on the idea. "Well do you have a smaller model you could loan me? It _would _only be a loan."

The distraction she was providing quickly wore off as my temper increased. My quick temper sometimes made it difficult to block thoughts.

_I think they've been down there long enough, _Esme thought. It was half a joke, though. I could almost _feel _the flirtation through the phrase.

Carlisle's thoughts nearly perfectly echoed hers, as they commonly did. _I think they're arguing down there. How long _have_ they been down there? Ah, the piano. Perhaps we should go visit them. Would Esme mind?_

I smiled to myself at them, though still a little annoyed. Every night since...well about two years ago. Before that, if you counted the time I was away. They were very shy about what happened at night, to be certain, but it was very difficult for me not to know everything that was going on. Rosalie knew some of it, as well, but it bothered her in varying degrees. Sometimes a lot, sometimes quite a bit less. Right now, she barely noticed at all. And it wouldn't be a problem for me without the mind-reading, considering that I loved my new father and mother so much.

A distraction _was_ what I needed, and I was only just discovering that. Discovering it exactly when Rosalie discovered she'd rather take apart the piano than play it. Lucky me. Esme wouldn't want to play the piano if it meant spending time away from Carlisle. And he _certainly _had learned to play somewhere along the line.

"They were bonding, Carlisle," Esme whispered excitedly as she made her way down the stairs. Her thoughts held the same constant radiance, which left me with some unnecessary reassurance.

He smiled, and then instantly preoccupied himself of thoughts of replacing the wallpaper in his study. Typical thought-blocking technique, if he was Esme. I almost laughed at the way he was picking up her little habits, even inside his head.

"Well I wouldn't call it _bonding_," Rosalie disagreed, standing up from the bench and smoothing her skirt in the same motion. Nearly used to the way she could do that so smoothly, she still smiled at herself when she did it. She praised herself the way a child praised a dog doing tricks.

"What would you call it, then?" Esme led her away into another part of the house where they continued the discussion in a feminine manner, not at all engaging _my _head. Not to worry, though, since they quickly moved onto the latest trend in the interior design world. Satirical thoughts in _my _mind. Nice.

Carlisle looked at me, and I instantly knew what _he _would call it. For one second, his guard was let down. The invisible barrier between our minds, kept only through his tactical distractions, had now disappeared. I knew everything. That which I'd suspected, and that which he'd hidden.

I had known that he thought Rosalie and I were the perfect match. I hadn't know that he'd _planned _on it.

-o--o-o--o-o--o-

_AN: Wow. I really enjoyed writing the piano bit! It's so much fun to write about music, I just don't know how much fun you had reading it... This is the longest chapter yet of the story, yet still short compared to some fics. Anyway, I try to concentrate on getting everything I want into the chapter rather than length. _

_Sorry this is taking so long to update, but my Jasper/Alice story is taking priorities over this one because of more reviews and alerts, etc. I still update each one in one week or so if possible. Also, I'm sorry for any mistakes as I wrote this while on vacation. _

_I digress(as always)...Please review and tell me your thoughts! I always appreciate it!_

_Thanks for reading!_


	4. Good Craftsmanship

_AN: It has been a while, hasn't it? I've been very busy with school work, unfortunately. The only plus side is that you now have an entire chapter to read! :) Since I wrote the last chapter, I've been hearing Pachelbel's Canon absolutely everywhere. _

_Hopefully this will be to your liking! _

Chapter Four: Good Craftsmanship

If there was a time when I was more upset at my father, I couldn't remember it. Maybe upset wasn't the right word, but it was profuse disappointment that was colouring my attitude towards him now.

The things I suspected of him—things I didn't think him capable of—were completely true.

It was an exaggeration, though I didn't see it as that way. He was completely wrong. Wrong on _so _many levels. And I didn't even think he was wrong because I was being overly defensive.

I finally wasn't just hearing thoughts, I was listening. Every single word or murmur in Carlisle's mind did not escape me, now. I knew exactly what everything meant, too, right or wrong. He was a being of intense moral, and there had to be reasoning behind this atrocity. I felt diseased thinking what he had thought.

It was all in best interest for me—that's what I told myself, anyhow. He wanted what was best, and nothing more. He thought I _needed _this, and really, was that not the truth? As I saw him with the one person that truly made him happy, and thought of his life before her...it was unquestionable. Love was precisely what I needed.

And yet, was it his business to interfere like this? If I loved Rosalie—really _loved _her—I would have done something about it by now, without his assistance. Carlisle thought I was like a child who needed his father's hand to guide him across the street. But that wasn't true at all. Physically I may be barely more than a boy, but I still knew what I wanted without his help. It was not Rosalie I needed.

"Please, say something," Carlisle whispered. The tone was unfamiliar. I had to turn to make sure that it was him speaking to me, and not a ghost. He sounded worn and tired, like he'd been doing a lot of thinking. Which he had.

"I'd rather pace a hole in the floor, thanks."

"I should have been more careful," he began again.

I turned to face him for the second time, pivoting on my heel. The dark circles under his eyes were more striking, and I remembered that tonight was supposed to be his and Esme's night to hunt. He had stayed back to talk to me. For some reason it didn't bother me that he should waste his time like that.

"Been more careful with what?" I asked, not really impatient. Impatient was hours ago.

He didn't speak at first. Tilting his head downwards so that his eyes were overcast by shadow. I couldn't see the bright sparkle that sometimes brimmed them like a human tear. And then he thought the words, _Been careful with my thoughts. _

Everything, absolutely everything, fit perfectly. For one split fraction of a second I thought I understood. And then, as things do for me, logic took the place of the realization. I didn't care that he had been considerate, moderating what he thought so as not to offend me.

"It doesn't offend me that you think I belong with her. It offends me that you've been thinking there was something between us when there _obviously _wasn't." Obvious didn't even cover it. Rosalie and I had barely even formed a truce. We now held a very tight relationship where we only said what was absolutely necessary to each other and kept out of the other's business.

He raised an eyebrow. _Obvious? _

"Yes, Carlisle, obvious. From the start you knew that Rosalie and I far from liked each other." We never even spoke to each other before recently, and we still didn't always have kind things to say. A lot of the rude banter back and forth he wouldn't know because it was Rosalie _thinking _it.

This time he did speak aloud. He raised his chin, and I could see that I was right about the sparkle in his eyes. With the contrast between it and the circle under his eyes, he looked quite frightening.

"You misunderstand. Love sometimes begins as the strongest hate," He said slowly. "I see now that it is not like that for you, and I completely empathize. But maybe you should reconsider the strength of your distaste towards her—at least in front of her—because it is truly affecting her behaviour. Esme told me that Rosalie doesn't feel like she belongs with us any more."

She never had belonged with us.

"I have told you this before," I half-shouted, "but I do not mind saying it again! I think that she has no regard for anyone but herself. While it may not be her fault that she was spoiled, she has no worth for anything other than possessions. The reason why I do not like Rosalie Hale is not one reason, but many. And that shall not change."

_Edward! _Esme scolded me from downstairs. _Don't you remember the last time? You can't afford another fight like this! She will not forgive you if this continues to happen._

Forgiveness had not come up in my mind. I didn't want her to forgive me. I didn't even want her around. Both of them thought that there had been some sort of unconventional connection between us, and they were both utterly wrong.

Esme walked to stand before me at the top of the stairs. She reached up to put a gentle hand on my shoulder. _I saw her face, Edward. When she heard you play piano for the first time. It was like a look of admiration_, _as if you had redeemed yourself in her eyes. That girl comes from a place where admiration was cast in her direction and not the other way around. Even if it was only for a moment, she admired you for being able to show the feelings in music that she kept hidden. Do you think she can do that the way you can? No. And you've lost all the respect she had for you again. _

Carlisle's thoughts continued where hers left off. It was astounding how they did that. _Do you seriously think that she's alright with you turning a blind eye to her, Edward? She was adored. You were probably the first person she's ever known who doesn't love looking at her. And you don't think she's gorgeous? She's one of the prettiest women I've ever seen. I can't believe that you would turn her away like this, when she's clearly meant for— _

"_Please, _can you both just _stop_! Don't _think_ another _word_ until I finish!" Both of them looked directly in my eyes, and I didn't know who deserved the accusation I would soon present. Carlisle. Yes, he was the one who thought he knew what was meant for me. "If either of you could hear Rosalie's thoughts, you would know the reason why I do not love her. It's much more simple than you think. In fact, I think you are delving into my emotions far more than 'parents' should."

They both said nothing, still sticking to the original rule that they could not speak.

"She has a very shallow mind," I admitted. "To be in a relationship with someone and love them, you need to have conversations you wouldn't immediately predict and expect. In her head, there isn't much there to begin with, and even less for me to discover."

Carlisle broke the rule. "That is unfortunate, son. It is quite unfortunate that you think she is unworthy of your time and affection. Love is also patience."

Esme clicked her tongue at him, frowning enough to put pressure in her smooth forehead. "Carlisle, I would appreciate it if you didn't pressure the boy. He is grown enough to know that he doesn't love her. And he has had much patience with her." She turned to me. "Not that I'm taking your side, either. You have been very harsh to Rosalie. _Especially_ since she tried very hard to accept your apology."

For once, Esme's motherly instinct annoyed me strongly. I was older than her, and did not need her input on what I was doing correctly and incorrectly. She was right to say that Carlisle wasn't trusting my judgement enough, but not right saying that Rosalie had tried hard to accept my apology. Rosalie had decided that she hated me since the moment she realized I didn't worship her. And there was no more than that going on in her mind at any moment. She thought about it constantly, even more chagrined knowing that I could hear her thinking it.

And Carlisle's sage wisdom was perhaps even more aggravating. He thought he knew it all, from a few simple inferences. Under the simple assumption that Rosalie was the only one who could break me from my reverie, he then thought that we were in love. She broke me from my reverie, my quiet place, my peaceful place. How did that make her my _love_?

"The boy's getting emotional!" Rosalie laughed from behind Esme. "Look at him! What upsets him so? Do I know her?" She laughed again, but it was mirthless and forced. It, coupled with her thoughts, showed me that perhaps she was more upset than I was.

"Yes," I retorted, "you do know her. She has the tendency to act like a child stuck in an adult body. She screams more than any newborn baby and is far more violent than any serial murderer."

"_Esme_? Really? I didn't think she killed anyone as of late..." Rosalie shook her head back and forth as she chuckled.

Carlisle pursed his lips, mirroring her head shaking action. "I think _both _of you act more like children than adults. You have responsibilities to the family as much as Esme and I. Figure out how to solve your issues, or simply ignore each other."

Esme's eyes widened as she touched Carlisle's arm. "I will not having my children act like they are not members of the same family," she protested.

_I'm hoping they sort it out before things come to that, _Carlisle thought. He was looking at her as if she had my ability. At the moment, they weren't thinking about the character of Rosalie and I at all. We both had the identical ability to ignore each other for many hours if the need presented itself.

Rosalie laughed. "Really, it shouldn't be hard for me to ignore him." that was the truth. She had gone so far as to ignore me a few times since she was turned. I had done my best to ignore her since the moment we met.

"I agree," I said to her, remembering that I should never speak to her again in order to preserve my own sanity. I was already standing in front of my piano, then sitting on the bench, playing a melody I had heard just now on the inside of my head.

It was long and drawn out, low and somehow still quick in the underlying melody. It was flitting, fleeting, and flushed underneath a calm, cool, composed line an octave higher. I realized that it wasn't an original, it was a companion piece. Companion to the _Esme _song I had written. The two songs perfectly balanced each other. And if I switched back and forth, the song was playing for both of them. Carlisle _and _Esme. The same song, the same melody..._harmony. _

I had done wrong. I had been angry with them both for seeing something I had not seen. It was _so _wrong what I had done, judging them like this, when I knew I was just the same. There were many times I chose to make the same assumptions about them that they did of me.

_Thoughtless mind reader, _I accused myself, repeating Rosalie's favourite thing to call me. It was hard to ignore her when I had no one else to really speak to. Carlisle and Esme were, as expected, together. And I felt too horrible to utter a word to either of them, anyway.

I flipped through some old books, stopping each time I realized I had read it before. The only new material was in Carlisle's study. There were some other language books that I hadn't read, though. Mandarin Chinese I was only half finished studying, but I only had another few hundred pages of Italian to cover. It was a decent enough distraction.

Rosalie was silently standing outside of my door, pretending just to pass it.

"Qué usted necesitan, Rosalie?" I was asking her what she needed. In Italian, of course, just to be difficult. She didn't answer me, obviously, sniffing and completing the walk to her room. So she _was _ignoring me.

I had begun to think she was decent. Sensible, even. Just a few hours before I had thought she was someone who listened to me, capable of intellect and appreciation. How wrong I had been. She was nothing but the shallow child I had thought her to be, and it would not change.

"I do not know Italian," she stated, all the while grating her teeth. She hated admitting she was wrong, and it made her more frustrated to know she had admitted it to _me. _Flitting down the stairs, I could hear her lift the cover to my piano. The ultimate revenge was running through her mind, and I had mere moments to stop it.

But I did. Her hands were away from it as soon as she'd glanced me on my way down the stairs. Still, in my moment of hesitation to stop her she could have already crushed the instrument.

_It was too much of a waste with such good craftsmanship, _she admitted, stroking the smooth black sides. _And I must play him again, though not right now. _

"Him?" I asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

The corner of her mouth twitched, and then righted itself, much too quickly. I could not be sure the movement occurred. _Well it looks perfect on the outside, but not so perfect on the inside. The appearance of perfection, just like you. It must be a him. I have both the appearance and inner workings of perfection. _

"And modesty," I added, chucking silently. She could not get any more vain than she already was. One moment speaking to me, and then next looking at her reflection in the polished frame of my love.

_Of course, there is another reason, _she continued. _You don't love women, otherwise you would have loved me straight away. So since you're so in love with this thing, it must be male. Theoretically, anyway. _She smirked.

"Theoretically you are completely full, to the brim, with yourself. Your reasoning has no base in reality. Just because I don't find your vain thoughts attractive doesn't mean I won't find someone someday who is a slightly deeper thinker. And probably quieter so I can have a moment's peace."

I laughed wryly at the prospect. As if I would ever find someone silent enough to keep from annoying me. The person would have to be deep, but exceptionally unobservant if they would be able to keep from pointing things out mentally and infringe on my thoughts. The impossibility was now laying out before me in a large heap.

None of this bothered Rosalie, of course. _You also resisted Tanya. That can't be normal of anyone. I've even seen young _women _stumble at her beauty. Maybe you were changed too young. No time for the hormones to kick in. _Her eyes twinkled as she laughed at her own joke. It wasn't too often that she laughed, so it made sense she would only be laughing at her own brilliance.

I shrugged. "You're not the first to think of that. Esme and Carlisle have been discussing that very matter when they thought me out of mental reach." I shook my head. "It doesn't really bother me, though. I can admire beauty. What I do not admire is both your shallow mind and Tanya's thick, rich, carefully planned plots for seduction. If you were human I'd be worried about you striking your skull on a mirror and bleeding to death."

Her perfectly double-curved lips curved over her perfectly sharp teeth. A snarl that sounded perfectly horrible ripped through her lungs. Perfectly awful thoughts of my demise and how she was about to orchestrate it were running through her, but I ignored them. I had to avoid a fight this time, to avoid my one true love being smashed into pieces. My piano, that is. Rosalie was disposable.

That was the true reason why Rosalie was not attractive to me. Others could see the outside of her, and even I could not doubt she was a flawless beauty. But to see the inside was to ruin the outside. When you heard her selfish, unheeding, vain thoughts, it ruined her appearance completely.

Her fist hovered over the piano, but didn't come crashing down. Even if I could have won the fight against her, it would not have saved my music. Her hand was shaking, mid-air, like she hadn't decided yet. And then it fell almost limply to her side.

"What's the matter?" I taunted, somewhat amused.

_I remembered playing it, _she thought. _It was so calming, contrary to most of my feelings in this body. It was like therapy, in a way. The loosening of emotions, and the fleeing of ties to the earth. I think that while I played it, I may have even enjoyed being a vampire. I felt a reason to continue existing, and I knew why you loved it. You were right to love your compositions, Edward. I...was wrong. _

She was wrong. Rosalie Hale just said she was _wrong. _My lips twisted into a smirk, staying there for a moment. Then I fought the feeling of triumph, the smile falling and staying lowered this time. "You weren't _wrong, _Rosalie. You didn't know any better. Esme and Carlisle _know _me, and understand why I am this way, why I act this way... But you don't. And, just the same, I have harshly judged you as well. I do not know you, either, so I shouldn't have pretended to." It was so difficult to say this when I was admitting defeat. More difficult than turning Tanya down, and more difficult than first thinking I would need to exist by Rosalie's side.

Her eyes were closed, as she sometimes did, her fists clenched and her teeth gritted. Yet as one moment changed into the rest, her tense appearance subsided, revealing something that resembled a girl underneath. It was in that instant that I realized just how much she had given up for this life, and why she had a right to be upset.

"It would be a lie to say you weren't behaving like a child," she said, opening her eyes on the word 'child'. "You were. But for once I am not going to put the blame on you when I deserve it, because that is a waste of time. Perhaps we need time to let things happen—figure things out. Maybe, someday..." Her voice trailed into a whisper, but her thoughts were completed in my mind. Her hopes for the things she had given up lingered in the air between us, sour as vinegar. I did not want the same things she did.

We both knew she had said a lie, too. Even as _she _said it, she was thinking the opposite. There was no way we could be together _any _day, when we conducted ourselves like children. Carlisle and Esme had put the thoughts into our heads, and now she was thinking there was some stock behind it all, or that I might actually feel that way.

"Rosalie... I really do know everything. I know about how you gave love to a fiancé who pretended to return it, but was looking for his own advantage in the situation. I know about his friends, and what they did to you. It was a horrible crime." More horrible than even _I'd_ committed, though I'd done some horrible things. "And I know that even though all of this happened to you, you want to live again so much that it is destroying you. There is nothing I can do about that."

She shook her head, pretending to ignore me. Despite it all, she _was _listening though.

"But look at Esme," I continued, as though without a pause. "She lost her child, and she keeps moving and existing despite what she's been through. Esme has had to deal with much the same as you, so she at least understands. The child that you want so badly... that is an impossibility."

_How _dare _you! _She fumed silently, all the while glaring at me. _Are my thoughts no longer my own? You are no better than any other man when you do that! Things I have never said aloud you have no right to speak of as if you understand._

I was a little bit shamefaced now. "But that child... he was your own, was he not? A baby you lost. Royce's, perhaps, or another love..." I let my voice echo in the large room, and then silence drifted and consumed me.

Her eyes were wide now, as I recognized my own mistake without a word to correct it. _He wasn't my child, _She thought cautiously, _He was Vera's child. The only thing I ever wanted was a beautiful child, but now it is, as you claim 'an impossibility'. _

"I'm sorry," I began to explain. "I...I didn't know."

_That's fine, Edward. Pretend you think it's absolutely _dreadful _that my life has panned out this way. It's what you find funny to laugh at, right? The perfect girl who gets everything she ever wanted, before falling on her face? I never even got the choice to fall!_

We stared at each other, face to face, waiting as minutes passed on. Neither of us moved... Neither of us breathed or even blinked. The clock ticked. She thought pointless thoughts, and I thought mine.

And then her lips twitched, quivering into a repressed smile. She was fighting laughter harder than I was fighting it.

I smirked, and then chuckled quietly.

"What are you laughing at?" She demanded. And then she started to laugh, too. We both laughed, together, filling up the space between now and a second from now. We were laughing louder than the tick of the clock. I liked the way it sounded, too, laughter from an underused portion of my body. My body shook with the effort not to laugh even louder.

"The thought of you as a _mother_." I half-laughed as I spoke the words.

She smiled very slightly. So slightly that I could not even be certain it was a smile at all. "I already have a _brother_, why not a few sons?"

I placed my hand in hers, and shook. "Brother and sister. For real this time."

Her grin matched my own.

-o--o--o-o--o-

_AN: It was my birthday, on the twentieth! I am now officially fifteen years old..hahaa. For a belated gift, I would love you to review. Or not, it's your choice. But please let me know what you liked and didn't like about the chapter._

_I won't be able to update as often as I like, because I'm preoccupied with school work. But I'll try my hardest. Thanks for staying with the story—I appreciate you reading it very much :)_

_PS: If I got the Italian wrong in the earlier part of the chapter, I would adore it if someone would correct me. I don't study Italian, so I used a translator. Roughly translated it means "What do you need, Rosalie?". And sorry if I got it wrong! _


	5. Stolen Angel

_AN: Finally, after weeks of careful plot-planning I bring you Chapter Five! This one changes point-of-view in the middle, so I hope it doesn't confuse you. This chapter is dedicated to Tasha Shirley McCarty Cullen. Please enjoy, and read my note at the bottom!_

Chapter Five: Stolen Angel

_South, _Carlisle thought to himself. _The mountains? _

"Yes," I agreed. I wanted to see another new place, somewhere I hadn't visited before. These hunting trips were starting to get monotonous. "South sounds great." This wasn't exactly what I had wanted to talk about, but it was hard to say a word to Carlisle and have him listen completely when his thoughts were occupied with the atlas on the 'dining' room table.

We were going to move again, actually take on a family identity and begin socializing Rosalie with humans. Of course, we'd already been to a lot of the places in the US, and we couldn't move south because of the sunlight. But for hunting it was a fine prospect. Nobody would see us in the mountains, anyway.

_Hunting? _Rosalie addressed me in her thoughts. She never was able to resist the opportunity to try new species, discuss the flavours. She hated not being human, but there were certain tiny parts of immortality she was sometimes able to relish.

"Yes." I didn't look up from the table, showing disinterest in both the atlas and the conversation Rosalie was _about _to have with me. Whatever it was, I was not in the mood to hear it.

"May I join you both?" She asked, more fervently. Her eyes were on Carlisle, now, since she knew there was no way I would let her come. She was too showy, loved making a display as she killed. There was no reason to be showy in the mountains, and since we would be the only ones to watch her, we would have to put up with every bit of it.

"Of course," was his automatic response. I could have hit myself in the forehead. He was too polite, constantly trying to please everyone.

I turned away from her completely, entrained on my father as intently as she had been. "There is the matter of Esme, Carlisle. She doesn't need to hunt, so she'll be alone." The excuse seemed extremely defective, especially spoken aloud.

"She can come with us," he disagreed, shutting the atlas as if that ended the conversation. Though he thought nothing to accompany the phrase, I imagined him thinking that we were one indestructible ensemble. We could not be separated! Yes, that was what he believed. The family was one, never to be divided even for a weekend.

I hummed, a long droning sound that seemed to continue for ages. It was tuneless.

Rosalie swivelled her head from one direction to the other in an instant. "I didn't want a debate," she muttered, but her pitch began to raise. "You can both go on your little father-son bonding trip. But don't expect me to stay away from the mountains. It's fair game."

Carlisle gave me a 'Oh look what you've done now!' look, standing up quickly. "That's alright. You can hunt in Tennessee, if that is your desire. We'll hunt locally and go to the mountains another day. It's not as if the animals will leave overnight!" he chuckled to himself, to which I threw him a blank look. So much for ridding the years of monotony. I would be lucky if I got to go there at all, let alone in the next week.

"Since you offered ... I can't refuse. Thank you Carlisle." She gave him the sweetest smile she could possibly conjure, and his lips moved upwards in return.

I wondered for a moment if Rosalie was not a specialist in getting whatever she wanted. One moment Carlisle was dead-set on going to Tennessee, the next he was offering the trip to her without strings attached. Scheming was never one of my stronger suits—it was so hard to lie to someone when you knew they believed your every word. Guilt has its way of getting inside a mind-reader.

-o--o-o--o-o--o-

The music of an old sonata filled the house. That was how I knew Carlisle was studying, since he always listened to the classics when unearthing old medical mysteries. When I'd asked him why, once, he said that music was as much a mystery to man as any illness. That was one of the reasons why both things interested him to such a great degree.

I pretended to flip through an old book of sketches—Nudes, old men, women with fat around their middle, faces contorted into odd expressions, profiles with hooked noses, eyes dark with concentration... How Carlisle had gotten his hands on Michelangelo's sketch book I could only guess. Beauty was truly in the eye of the beholder, but I could see Michelangelo's attraction to his subjects. The women were carefree and honest with their appearance, and the men weren't afraid to model the muscles on their backs _or _the creases on their faces which came with age. I could see the beauty in that, too—growing old. The more I pretended to look at the sketches, the more I actually did. And that was a problem when I was supposed to be thinking of a conversation starting point.

Carlisle was looking at drawings of male and female anatomy, the systems drawn, labelled, and explained in a column on the right of the page. His eyes bore into the page, searching for deeper meaning where there wasn't one. None that I could think of, anyway. His mind was working very quickly, even for a vampire, as he looked to end another of Rosalie's plight.

_The uterus would be frozen, _he droned, _no room for movement or growth. Implantation could simply not occur, as the walls would not be able to thicken or stretch... _

Weeks of study, all because Rosalie's only deep desire was to have a child. She believed that in this new body she was unable to birth a baby. How she even came upon this thought, considering the other things she'd been through, was beyond me. Of course Esme had mourned over this very issue _long _ago when I was...away. So it was irritating to say the least that Rosalie would choose to bring everything up again.

"Carlisle, may I join you in study?" He started, even knowing that I was in the room. I didn't usually speak aloud since I normally only had to acknowledge someone's thoughts with a nod or occasional comment.

_Of course, Edward, _he answered. _Interested in the material? _He raised an eyebrow, only half-joking.

"Not really," I said conversationally. "I was more interested in the book itself. Did you know that most universities have more updated material now?" I pointed to the diagram. "This picture is labelled a little bit more accurately. Technology is advancing at an amazing rate."

He nodded thoughtfully. _This is an old book, but once I choose a hospital for work, I can have access to the latest material._

"It's difficult to keep up sometimes," I noted, directing the conversation.

He was confused. _What exactly are you saying? _

"I'm saying that I want to go to medical school," I said, and he was dumbfounded. Who wouldn't be? My proposition was seemingly impossible, but that had never stopped him. I could tell that it pleased him, however strange it was.

He didn't answer, letting my words hang there. He knew it couldn't keep me in suspense though, since I could tell that his thoughts were racing quickly from practicality to delight. As he was showing me through various images, stories, research pieces, and experiences, the scent of blood was more difficult to resist than imaginable—Especially when the victim was completely helpless and already near death.

o--o-o--o-o--o

_Rosalie_

I smiled at the thought of a predator who would soon become prey. As the wind rippled through leaves on the trees, I amused myself by thinking of an animal's jaw widening, a harsh roar escaping its throat. I would roar back, of course, and it would cower. That was the way things worked when you were immortal–nothing could simply throw you on the ground. There were no easy deaths of our kind, just of the animals we targeted.

A large bear was on its haunches, bent over at a strange angle as if struggling with a weight. But what weight could a bear that size struggle with? It was pushing an overgrown man –coated with blood– to the ground. I immediately held my breath out of habit, but it didn't lessen the smell.

I was about to leap on the man, consume his blood, before I saw the matted dark curls adorning his head. My eyes widened, and I stared at the gruesome scene completely frozen. The sight brought me back to a distant time and place, one where my best friend was blessed with a beautiful baby. A dark haired angel of a baby.

The crucial importance blood had once held did not matter anymore.

I let out a feral roar at the bear, who snapped his teeth in a challenge. I snapped too, baring teeth now dripping with venom. The bear cowered a little, backing up onto four legs. The way it moved resembled tribal offerings to a god. Like the bear was giving me a sacrifice.

And I nearly accepted. The blood staining his skin was intoxicating, more so than I could imagine. Something unknown was telling me to spare him–no, to _save_ him. In a sort-of-selfish manner, I wanted to keep him with me always as the one treasure that I could not be denied.

So still that a human might have thought him dead, the man's mouth opened in one attempt at speech. His eyes were opened, too, but they seemed focused on the other time and place I was constantly forced to live in. It seemed that he, too, was alone here.

No. He wouldn't be alone. He would be with me.

I lifted him into my arms as I completed a mental check-list.

Breath held? Check.

Undeniable urge to kill him? Also a check.

But I would try my best. Through the unbearable torture, I would try my best. I hadn't killed anyone before, and I didn't intend to start now. Especially not a helpless man who had been crying out for my help. One who was capable of making me do something good, for once.

As if saving one person could make me _good._

I would have sworn that his lips twitched in a dimpled half-smile.

o--o-o--o-o--o

_Edward_

When I smelt the blood –when I knew it wasn't an animal's– I could not believe it. But it _was_ Rosalie in the house, not a human. The shock was the man in her arms –of near comical appearance given his size– drenched in his own blood and collapsing into her shoulder. His heart was faint, but his mind was running wild.

_Keep your eyes open, _he thought in tired, broken phrases, _don't lose sight of her face. _He was doing a mental recap of his life, followed by the image of Rosalie complete with wings and a halo like an angel from the creche. A bit melodramatic, but the guy _was _dying.

Carlisle looked extremely alarmed, but the look was immediately covered over by his surgical calm. He walked over to the human, but Rosalie wouldn't let him go. "Rosalie, you're going to have to set him down. Edward, get a washcloth for the blood."

I came back with a burgundy washcloth, hoping it wouldn't show much blood. I washed the man's face as Carlisle ripped open what was left of his shirt to survey the damage. His ribs were broken, a few organs damaged, some internal bleeding... but he was still awake. Still breathing.

"Save him, Carlisle," Rosalie begged. "Please."

And he looked at her with a strange hesitation, glancing at me once. I knew what was running through his mind, why he thought I might be opposed to this. Still, he didn't need to be told twice.

I watched as Rosalie closed her eyes, reaching to touch the man's hand.

o--o-o--o-o--o

"What are you trying to say, exactly?" Rosalie spat at me. "That I should have just left him on the ground? Shrugged and said, 'oh that's fine, he can handle the pain'? No, Edward! We're not all as malicious as you! We don't all run away from our families to spend years killing!"

I grimaced. She's under a lot of stress right now, I reminded myself. A whole lot of stress.

"He's going to be strong," Carlisle said. "A lot to take care of."

"He's not a child," Rosalie snarled back. "And he's not your responsibility."

Esme frowned, setting small marble creases into her forehead. "Of course he's our responsibility. If he wishes to stay with us, he'll be another member of the family. Especially if you've chosen him."

Oh dear _God_. Not this again.

Everyone looked at me, but I just pretended to ignore them. They'd best believe that I had nothing to do with Rosalie's sudden choice in blood-stained men of bear clans. Why would I care who she chose to save? I was only jealous that she loved someone enough to save them.

_Edward, _Carlisle thought softly, _I can still end this if it makes you uncomfortable. I won't kill him, but I can send him somewhere safe. Somewhere...far away. You are my first child, and I respect your wishes first. You still have time to make Rosalie realize what you can offer her. _

I shook my head in an offhand, unrecognizable gesture. Carlisle would know what it meant, though. It meant no, I could spend eternities with Rosalie and never love her that way.

More than that, I could recognize her attachment to this man already. Whoever he was–and I had some idea from the thoughts running through his head–he was going to make her so completely happy. The fact that Carlisle didn't understand that was incomprehensible to me. They were...They were meant to be. The fact that he had even survived the journey here –in a vampire's arms nonetheless– was proof of that much.

Rosalie was hovering over him, counting the seconds until he would be transformed. We had no idea, really. He was just so... _big. _It could take five days for all we knew.

"How much do you know about him, Edward?" She asked me with such fondness that at first I was taken quite off-guard. Previous misjudgements she had of me all seemed to be forgotten because of him.

"I know enough," I said. I was uncomfortable revealing so much of this stranger's life.

She leaned forward, urging me on. I didn't know what to say to her. This man was no Royce, but he was certainly no angel either. "Well he thinks that Carlisle is God, performing judgement on him. Essentially, he is recapping all of his sins in his mind, wondering which will be the one to send him to hell."

"Go on." She didn't even seem surprised at my words, let alone put off by them.

"Right now he thinks he's in hell –because of the burning– mostly due to some... _exhibitions_ he undertook with unmarried women. Don't be too worried, though, they were all willing." I smiled to myself at the thought. This man had been an unsatisfied womanizer for too long. I wondered if Rosalie would finally be the one to satisfy him.

_I don't mind, _Rosalie thought, with such seduction it made me tremble with disgust. Perhaps I'd better take Carlisle up on his offer to ship him to Alaska.

"And...," I continued, with a slightly more sarcastic edge, "He thinks you're his stolen angel."

_Stolen angel? _She thought, so immediately elated by the thought. _But I was the one to steal _him_!_

I suppressed a chuckle, reading the man's thoughts again. In his dramatic, venom-induced play, _Emmett McCarty _had survived his judgement. He was coming back to heaven to be with his angel at last.

_AN: Please let me know via review what you thought of Rosalie's PoV. I'm doing some oneshots in her perspective in the future, so this feedback is crucial. As well, tell me what you thought of Emmett so far. I hope this chapter wasn't too short, and that the wait for it wasn't too long. I might be able to get another chapter written before the end of holiday break. Thanks again for reading._


	6. Time and Patience

_AU: Thanks to CBRH for help with the location of the Cullen's current residence. I agree–the Appalachian mountain valleys of Tennessee is an excellent environment for the Cullens! ^^ I also send my regards to any subscribers who I haven't had the chance to thank! _

Chapter Six: Time and Patience

He was wild. And uncontrollable. And completely _insane. _

I could tell that to some members of my family, this was an endearing quality. One member, at least. Rosalie was absolutely head-over-heels, even though she was far from letting him know that.

I had figured that Emmett's predictable, and –dare I say– inappropriate train of thoughts was due to the death sentence the bear had given him. Or then due to the 'angel' who saved him. No, he was predictable. He had nothing to hide. Rosalie was a more _structured _version of Emmett, and Emmett was a less dignified version of Rosalie.

They were sitting on the couch that I had once preferred sitting on. He was sitting just centimetres away from her, and she leaned intently toward him as he continued to tell a pivotal tale of his past.

"...I told her who was boss, you know? I said, 'If I'm going to die, you're coming down with me!'" He smirked, lounging with his arms over the back of the couch.

She laughed a bit. "I believe that's when _you _passed out and _I _saved you! You didn't tell the bear anything!"

He nodded, whistling through his teeth. "Well technically the bear _did _go down with me. You just helped a little." He flexed his hands, twisted his neck, and rolled his shoulders simultaneously. "And look at me—Alive and kicking!"

She snorted, smacking the back of his hand. "Technically, not the _alive_ part."

He gave her what I was recognizing as a typical stare. It was his own universal 'listen here' look, except slightly less serious. "I don't see what the difference is. If it's all the same to you, I can do all the same stuff I did before, but multiplied by, like, one billion!"

He moved his hand until it rested on the back of her neck, holding it there as a test. She didn't flinch, but I could hear her mind racing. She could feel other hot hands on her neck, her chest, holding her down on the ground where she was defenceless. This time, she let his fingers stroke her neck as delicately as he possibly could. For a newborn, he was surprising me.

But she leaned away, unable to escape her own traitorous thoughts. Royce was always with her, though, a phantom in her mind to haunt her. She thought she'd rid herself of him ages ago when she killed his body. It seemed that he was still around to ruin her.

Emmett tried to solve his error, running through his mind each and every thing he might have done to upset her. He was eager to please her. Eager to make her feel the same as he felt. "I can still laugh," he continued, as if nothing happened, "And I sure as hell bet that I can lift some weights!"

His attempt to lighten the mood helped a little, but she was still surely shaken. He knew it was his time to be quiet. To let her think, for once, and try to solve her own issues. Because there were some things that weren't the same about him as before: he could not give her children, and neither could she bear them. That was the number one thing she'd been thinking about since the moment she saw him—how it was hopeless for her to fall so deeply for him. In fact, she had barely admitted it to herself, choosing only to think of him as another man who'd thought her beautiful rather than one she'd saved from death.

"I'll be back in just a moment, Emmett," she said curtly, moving into the kitchen. He was giving me confused, pain stricken looks in my peripheral vision, thinking I couldn't see him. _I'd bet all the money that _was_ in my pocket a few days ago that she likes him, _Emmett thought._ Really likes. _

"No, no," I said quietly, "It isn't like that. Let me just say, leaving names out of this, that a certain _girl _in this house has a very sensitive attitude about certain subjects." I swung my legs onto the arm of the large chair, lying back.

"I'm not stupid," He said back, narrowing his eyebrows. "And stop getting inside my head. It just seems like, to me, that Rosalie and I have a certain chemistry. Wouldn't you agree? And right now I'm feeling my usual, ahem, excited attitude in even fuller force."

Ugh. I wished he would stop thinking like that.

My hand automatically touched the bridge of my nose, and my fingers closed over it as I sighed. "If by chemistry you mean she doesn't want to kill you, then yes. Just be sure to take her feelings seriously, okay? After what happened to her.." I trailed off, having another one of those moments where knowing more than I should didn't benefit me.

He looked at me straight in the eyes, for once more intimidating than full of joy. "What _did _happen to her?"

She didn't tell him. Of _course _she didn't tell him. _Rosalie Hale _was ashamed of her past_. _Huh.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, "that's one of the things about being a mind-reader–you can't tell more than the person wants to reveal. You can ask her yourself, or you can suffer the repercussions when you realize she's not at all ready for you."

I stood up, knowing Rosalie had heard me, knowing she would be back in a moment, and knowing that this was not my place. But where Rosalie was concerned, it never seemed to be my place.

Rosalie shot me a dagger glare as I left and she returned, letting me know _exactly _how she felt about the implications I had given Emmett. Actually, I was quite impressed. Normally she would have tried to physically remove me from the room or have not let the conversation take place at all.

I felt a soft hand on my arm, and reeled around to face Esme, who was standing next to me. Her angelic facial features were twisted a bit, her eyebrows narrowed slightly as if facing some struggle of her own.

_Leave her be, Edward, _she thought. _Rosalie's having difficult times these days with the boy here, and... well he is only a boy, after all. Give him some time to truly understand her. _

Time.

That was Emmett's problem, I realized. He wasn't accustomed to the slow-moving ways of our kind. And he certainly didn't understand Rosalie's way of gauging each and every decision before it happened—nearly every thought before it entered her head. Considering each and every thought once it did enter.

So, of course, it was extremely out of character for Rosalie to be so quick to judge Emmett. It had been rash of her to save him, deem him worth saving, and her judgement of him since had hardly been justified. She didn't think of him the way she thought of most things. Not carefully to make sure the thoughts were plausible in her universe. And not careful to make sure I didn't hear those thoughts, either.

Rosalie could take one look at him and forget everything she thought about herself. She seemed less vain and self-obsessed. She seemed more gentle and refined. And it was a slightly attractive quality, I admitted, but it wasn't something I understood. I could see her focus towards Emmett in her thoughts, and undeniably see the chemistry bordering on lust which flowed in wild bursts of thought between them.

There was also the wall that Rosalie imagined. The wall she kept hitting time and time again, flinching as her skin scraped and bruised against the stone. It didn't make sense since her new, granite skin couldn't bruise, but these _were _imaginings. And she also imagined cream, human flesh on her bones, every bruise just another of Royce's touches. He was supposed to be gone.

The wall still stood, though. Taller than Rapunzel's tower. No matter how much Emmett tried to push, claw, or dig his way through the stone with his fingers, he couldn't break the wall down. She was left to face this dilemma on her own.

"He had plenty of time, Esme," I whispered finally, in response to her silent words, "but she has plenty of barriers."

Esme's curious amber eyes peered around the corner at Rosalie and Emmett, trying to voice an unbiased opinion of their relationship. She came to the conclusion that it was cautious love, and even if I didn't know she was right I would have agreed. Esme always had a way of knowing these things, but Rosalie was far too resistant to trust him.

_Edward, _Carlisle thought from his study, _Would you mind speaking with me for a moment? _

I excused myself from Esme's presence, noticing for the first time that Carlisle was the only being who didn't make it seem strange when he addressed me in his thoughts. His voice was medicinal, complete with soothing properties. Sometimes, I believed it could heal what medicine couldn't touch.

His eyes were as soft as Esme's, closed as he sat in the armchair that dominated his study. I knew he was waiting for me, for the conversation he believed would change things. Change my mind, because I'd already decided having a newborn in our house –who was completely hell-bent on having Rosalie love him– was a waste of our efforts.

"Hello, Carlisle." I said this quietly, not wishing to disturb his deathly calm state of mind.

"Edward." He regarded me for a moment, surveying my demeanor and facial expression. He'd decided not to speak aloud so I wouldn't confuse the thoughts not meant for me to hear with phrases of the conversation. It was an unusual choice for him, but I accepted it.

He gestured for me to sit down, so I did, flexing my fingers against the warm leather of the small adjacent sofa.

He breathed deeply, which always preceded a conversation he deemed difficult. Not that I needed to remind myself of this, knowing the intentions of the conversation to follow, and why it would not be pleasant for either of us.

"Esme is..." He paused. "She really fears for Rosalie's situation."

"Care to elaborate?" I asked. So many thoughts were running through his mind that it was disorienting._ A little human girl, her leg bent and definitely broken. A winter snowfall, his hands catching flakes and trying to decide how each were different. Another hand cupped his, and he decided he liked the feel of her fingers better than the snow, analysing that, instead. Wild, red eyes, closing as a chest heaved with dry sobs. The swish of brown hair that flowed like melted caramel onto his shoulder..._

"Do you know much of abuse, son?" The words were practiced, a speech he'd been preparing to give but had only now been able to speak aloud.

I nodded, knowing especially what he meant. Esme didn't like to speak of it, either, but she had been abused for a very long time by her husband. There was no end to the sickening hatred Carlisle felt for Charles.

"The difference between Esme and Rosalie is the amount of trust they have within them," he explained. "Esme never loved or trusted Charles, so she was able to accept me, another man, as her saviour, and we fell in love. For Rosalie things are quite different..."

A new scene played in his mind. _A naked, sweat-covered girl lying on paving stones in a quickly congealing pool of her own blood. She had nothing left. No clothes to cover her for modesty, no blood to heat her dying heart. No strength to shiver from the cold, or to shiver from the thought of men's warm hands all over her... _She had nothing to care about or hope for. Except the hope that she would finally get some form of vengeance or salvation.

"It made all the different, Rosalie having trust in the one who killed her," I agreed. I held back my distaste. I wanted to call Royce a predator –a monster– say that _he _was the true vampire for sucking the life from an innocent girl. But Carlisle would not have approved of those words. Not when I'd been a killer, too.

"Rosalie truly had loved him," Carlisle said mournfully, "even if it was only the love of a child. She may have been rich with naivety, she was still capable of love." _How can she trust Emmett when he might betray her as Royce had done? _His mind formed the unasked question with utmost delicacy.

"She can't," I said, recognizing how strong moments of silence just seemed to pass without me notice. I was feeling the heavy silence, now.

Royce had not only betrayed Rosalie, he was a murderer of her dreams. She had dreamt of so many things. The vibrant, rich wedding they were to have–the one she'd have wanted. A rose garden in the front of her house, next to where their kids would play. It would take lovemaking to have those children, but it wouldn't be a chore. She wanted those beautiful children. And she wanted to appreciate every sunny day they could have. She dreamt of endless sun.

"He stole so much from her," I finished at last.

He brushed a strand of his wheat-gold hair from his eyes and tucked it behind his ear. The clock tolled but we both ignored it.

"You should consider what I've said _and _what you've said before you speak to Rosalie or Esme again. Rosalie, because Emmett could be so precious to her, and she needs to learn for herself to trust him. If she hears it from you, it'll mean nothing." He sighed, one sigh of millions and not the last. "And Esme because...because she wants Rosalie to love Emmett so badly."

"I already consider their feelings," I said, my voice lightening as the conversation came to a close.

"I know, son." he smiled slightly, just fractions different from a boyish smirk, and I closed the door inaudibly.

It hurt to hold back comments. I'd wanted to say how painfully obvious it was to me that Rosalie already loved Emmett. She wanted to do anything for him. Save him from death a few more times, or simply work up the courage to love someone again. She wanted to keep herself alive because she knew he wanted that. I could hear her chanting in her mind how she wanted him to know this. She loved him back, but she _couldn't_.

I had to look in from the outside of this, knowing what was going on inside each and every head. Emmett could get so very close to her before reaching the trigger. It was for a different reason every time that she would wince away from him. Sometimes the way he brushed his fingers through her hair, or the tone of her voice when he spoke. If he traced his nails over her skin it reminded her of rougher nails, and pale skin turned red with the marks.

She asked him once to go hunting to dispel his thirst. He had jumped up from his seat with a bold grin, saying, "Ah, _Rose_, you always know the things I want." his not-so-subtle wink was cut off by her gasp of sheer horror.

"That is not my name," she half-shouted. "Don't you ever call me that." And Emmett was stunned into silence, not knowing what he'd done to deserve berating. He didn't even know who Royce was—hadn't even heard the name spoken. Rosalie had told him nothing.

Her memories remained wide open for me to see, the single most painful, final night of her human existence. The pain of her transformation was not even comparable to how it felt to have Royce toughly shove her away after they were finished. Like she meant nothing, and the months before had been the dream before the nightmare. Calm before a storm. It was as if I was her, experiencing each memory through her mind as clearly as if it was my own. If only _Emmett _could feel this, and understand.

Still, every time Rosalie pushed him away he seemed to understand the reason without ever being told. He was patient, more patient than I had ever been, and extremely devoted to her. For now, he was simply devoted to her because she saved him, but later...I couldn't tell what would become of this.

The fact that Emmett didn't pressure her to tell him the secret was astonishing. Refreshing for her, too, as I could tell from her pleasant thoughts. However scared she was, Rosalie seemed to be a little less swift to show her displeasure towards me–at least when Emmett was in the room. So that could be a benefit..maybe.

I noticed how wherever Rosalie walked, Emmett's eyes were following her. He had decided that _actually _following her would solicit an eye roll or sarcastic remark, so he didn't trail behind her as much lately. It was kind of nice, though. If she walked by him he would get this crazy grin on his face, dimples showing, and sometimes he even chuckled under his breath. I wondered vaguely how long it would take for them both to come to their senses and admit that some sort of love was brewing.

"Edward?" Emmett asked quietly while I closed the cover of my book. "I think I'm in love with her."

I was a bit taken aback, but I resisted whatever cynical comment had been forming on my lips. "Why trust me with that information?"

He smirked a bit, not expecting that response. "Because since you know what I'm thinking, you obviously know that I think I love her."

That...actually made perfect sense.

I smiled at him, feeling that Emmett and I were on good terms for the moment. "Sometimes when you love someone, it's hard for them to just ignore all of your devotion. So..if you really care, she'll come around. To let you in on a little secret, she _really _likes you, Emmett. Just take your time, okay?"

He grinned, his white teeth nearly blinding me. Those kinds of smiles were slightly infectious. He patted me on the shoulder, and I winced from the pain. "Well the ladies _have_ found me irresistible in the past..." He winked, and I shuddered from the detailed memory flooding my mind. There were some things I did not need to know.

Rosalie was no exception to that rule, for sure. But rather than speed things along in their relationship, I kept silent. Esme and Carlisle were enough to listen to, and I didn't appreciate being the 'extra' member of the family.

I knew that in Rosalie and Emmett's case I could properly quote Shakespeare and say that _the course of true love never did run smooth. _

AN: Thanks for reading. I don't own the quote above, which is from _A Midsummer Night's Dream. _Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter(especially if I've been keeping Rosalie in character). It'll be nice to read some reviews after I write my Biology midterm! Oh! And I have a new oneshot about Rosalie posted, called _Once Upon A Time. _It's based on Brother's Grimm fairy tales.


	7. Apologies

Chapter Seven: Apologies

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_[Edward]_

"_Edward? I think I'm in love with her." _

I closed the words away in my mind, somewhere far from where I could say it aloud. Emmett didn't know it at the time, but the words were painfully difficult to keep locked in my throat. I longed to tell Rosalie, to ease the large and dominating part of her which believed that Emmett's love was based on the same physical part that Royce's was: lust.

As Rosalie distracted herself from her own thoughts, shutting herself further and further away from the family, I had to focus on firmly clamping my jaw in place. Stupidly, I had convinced myself that telling her would be a final, end-all solution. It would change her, I decided, and prevent her from being sent down the path she was most certainly headed.

And who was Emmett, after all, to tell me that I couldn't reveal his love for Rosalie? He hadn't told me that at all, actually, and I had no more connection to him than to the bear that had nearly claimed his life. He was not my brother. But of course there was my own morality to deal with, as I had sworn never to reveal private thoughts to another. Even to save my sister's sanity.

I dug my palms into the cushion, hoping and half-praying that Rosalie would stop trying to erase herself.

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_[Rosalie]_

I didn't know who to look at. There was Edward, in the background of my dismal reflection. He was sitting on some poor chair that he was demolishing, doing what he did best to hide things from the world. From me. I knew that he knew everything about me and about Emmett, and I was sure that he couldn't care less. Until just now, of course, as he looked at me –and at Emmett, and at the floor– with utter and complete confusion. I was just as lost.

And there was Esme, who was somewhere else entirely. Not in this room, because she had better things to do than worry about me. No, that wasn't it. She wasn't here because she had a valid opinion and knew I didn't want to hear it. A fair point.

Carlisle had long since decided to comfort Esme. And that was a fair point as well since he was almost always with her. She seemed to be having a hard time lately, and it was probably due to Emmett. He could be a challenge, though I didn't see what that had to do with Carlisle.

Of course, there was still Emmett, but he was trying not to be seen. He always followed me, but he usually watched from a distance, or from behind something, or facing the other way and just listening. It was sort of funny how he had to be in the same room as me, but it was still making me feel unsettled in the most peculiar way.

I had only ever felt that strange feeling in my stomach for one person. It was when I saw Royce at the bank and realized why my mother had sent me there. It was the time when I thought of having Royce's children and being proud to bear them. It was that odd moment when he first kissed me and I deluded myself into liking it, even though it was too much for me to handle. It was when I saw Royce on the street and walked toward him, revelling in the company of my fiancée. Before I realized he was drunk.

Here I was, feeling it again, and allowing myself to be fooled. If I let Emmett fool me, he might just do the same things Royce had done. I had to trust the others, and hope Emmett got the message and left without me saying a word. Carlisle was one of the only good men I had known, and he would stay out of it. Esme was still my mother, and would leave the choice to me. Edward was... Edward. I trusted him more than most men, but I wasn't sure he had the same feelings for women that other men did.

I _would _have ignored Emmett, that is, if not for his eyes in that moment. He seemed to have detected my finality in the matter, and took the time to spare a glance at me, revealing how deeply he'd been watching me. And his eyes weren't like Royce's _or _like Edward's. They were so different.

"No, he's not the same!" Edward hissed, snapping me out of my reverie. I knew that Edward had let his guard down then, because he wasn't good at hiding it. With my realization, though, he left the room with his eyes darting around in panic.

"You don't have to leave," I said, but it was not directed towards Edward._ Emmett _was attempting to make his getaway now, and leave me to my lonesome–a place I wasn't sure I wanted to be, today of all days.

"But it's what you want, isn't it?" his hands clenched into cold fists at his sides. "I'm not sure what it is you're afraid of, but it has something to with me. And I'm not sure I even did something wrong. I mean, I don't care if someone were to slap me senseless for something I _did _do wrong, but this time I don't feel like I'm to blame."

I just stared at him, feeling more and more heartless by the moment.

"I was rambling. Sorry," he whispered.

I got up from where I was sitting and actually looked in his deep, red eyes. "No, I kind of liked the rambling. I've never really..." I paused, taking a deep and unnecessary breath. "No one's ever really talked to me like that before. Not without some sort of purpose or hidden intent. I liked it."

He smiled in a way that made him look like he was thinking really hard. "I must confess," he said, in a mock whisper, "I _do _have a hidden intention."

I nodded as if to tell him to continue.

"I would really like for you to spend some time with me," he said, "because honestly I don't know how to speak to a vampire. If I liked a girl back home, I'd ask her to eat dinner with me or something. That's not really an option."

I pretended to be distracted with a misplaced curl, and then with the seam of my skirt. "I don't know if I'm the sort of girl for you, Emmett McCarty. I was spoiled and.... and scammed. And then I scammed you out of things too. When you're alive you can date and get married and show affection, but when you're dead you can't just go out and be yourself."

With the feeling that I'd said far too much, I settled back into my most comfortable state: silence. I studied the chair and the rim of the polished mirror. I felt normal when I was appraising things for their worth, even if I had yet to appraise all of me. There were parts of me that weren't worth anything to anybody, that had been previously owned and now worth even less than their original price. I had been the one thrown away and unwanted, and he deserved to know.

As if in answer to this, he calmly said, "I think you're being yourself right now."

I had to nod and agree. "I feel as if everything I say to you is being put into very confidential hands. And even though we're living in a house with a mind-reader, I feel like everything I'm saying is being heard for the first time." The honesty in my voice felt like a different person and I was shocked at the sound.

He looked at his palms, turning them around and studying them dubiously before smiling with a great confidence. "You can trust me, Rose," he said, and I didn't yell at him for calling me Rose this time. It felt like he was erasing the previous times the name had been called for different reasons in more drunken tones of voice.

After a very long moment, I reached out and grabbed his very large hand, swearing in that point and time that I felt a pulse. "The difference between you and I is that you were attacked by a bear, whereas I was attacked by humans, which are the worst sort of animal you can imagine. And the bear only wanted food, when the men who attacked me wanted a play-date first."

We were both silent, and I was given the impression that he didn't want me to say anything else. He moved to sit next to me in the love-seat and closed his eyes as if sleeping. I held onto his hand firmly, as if it were the only thing attaching me to the ever-revolving, horrific world.

"I'm so, so sorry," he said at last, each word sounding more honest than the last. The combination of the syllables rolling off his tongue made a butterfly float in the pit of my stomach.

"You don't have to say anything," I reassured him. I felt extremely cold suddenly, and stood up from the chair somewhat reluctantly. I swallowed hard as our hands disconnected and I walked deliberately slowly from the room.

He was wrong. I hadn't wanted him to leave, I had wanted to leave this world myself, once and for all. It was clear now how things had changed for me, just from witnessing the near-death experience of a man who'd been hiking in the mountains. The bear hadn't had any regrets, and I hadn't either until this point. My regret was how there was no hope for myself and Emmett, given that we would never be able to have what I _could _have had.

As a human there had been so many possibilities, but now everything just seemed quite strange and obscene. The absence of a heartbeat was a louder sound than the initial thud of my heart, and I felt as if everyone else could hear that absence as well.

Was it wrong to _miss _the loneliness that I'd had since joining this race? It felt wrong, and I could admit that much. I felt like he enjoyed so much better than someone who'd already been deemed trash. I longed for the lack of consideration and fine judgement I had just months ago. I longed for the feeling of emptiness that wouldn't affect him.

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_[Edward]_

_How is she doing? _Carlisle asked me for what must have been the tenth time. Rosalie was sitting in the same room as us, her arms in her lap properly and her legs crossed. She was perfectly still, her eyes staring blankly and far off and her mind working extremely quickly.

I shook my head in a gesture that could be conceived as a slow movement. No one but him would know about this silent exchange.

_Sane? _He asked.

I tilted my head to the side as if contemplating something. Honestly I wasn't sure.

_I should leave, _she told herself. _Run away from here and stop wherever suits me. Then Edward can't think to search my mind like he's doing now. I know you are, Edward. And in case you're wondering, you have no right to know why I want to leave._

Damn Rosalie catching on so quickly. She could be a genius in her own right sometimes. She left the room and stormed to her own "bedroom" where I knew she'd be sitting in quiet contemplation for the good portion of the next day. And the way vampires worked, she could be in that room for a century and it would feel like an hour or less.

"Why exactly is she.. What's _wrong?_" Carlisle was a man used to medical problems that could be fixed with a chemical solution. She was numb on the inside, and it was slowly moving to the inside.

I had trouble saying the words. "She fears that Emmett will no longer love _or _lust for her once he learns of what happened to her. She feels too impure for him–a corruption. And she started telling him what happened but then stopped herself...."

He looked at me sternly. "I don't think the Rosalie we know will ever come back to us."

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_[Rosalie]_

I didn't want to hear his apologies. I didn't want to see the pity mixed with fury in his eyes as he walked behind me once more and placed a cautious finger on my shoulder. I didn't want to flinch away from the feeling of his presence in the room. I didn't want to compare him to somebody he clearly wasn't.

Yet I _heard_. I _saw. _I _felt. _I _compared. _

And the more I compared him to the only man I'd really _known, _the more I realized that there were no similarities in the slightest. Emmett had never killed, or been cruel. He had been nothing but kind to me from the start, even if he was only repaying me for saving his life–in a manner of speech.

Though I'd never really taken the time to get to _know _Carlisle and Edward, I could also assume that they were good men. Definitely not like Royce. So how could I expect Emmett to be like Royce when there were clearly men out there who did not mean me harm? I should have been giving Emmett the benefit of the doubt.

"Rosalie?" He whispered, tugging on a stray lock of hair as I turned around.

"Yeah?" It was hard to think of anything else to say with him looking at me like that.

"I'm–"

I cut him off. "I'm sorry, too." I was really sorry for not trusting him, because I should have a long time ago. I moved slowly, placing my hand on his shoulder and meeting his gaze as strongly as I could manage. Then my eyes were closed and I was pulling him closer.

The first kiss. Closed mouths dying to be opened and enough space to fit another person between us. It was sweet, but it didn't last nearly long enough.

And then there was the second kiss. He pulled me tight to him and I didn't feel the usual immense claustrophobia that I normally felt being close to anyone. My mouth slid open first, and his tongue entered slowly. Carefully. I could sense how difficult it was for him to control himself. Almost as hard as it was for me.

The third kiss. His hands were everywhere, and I loved how they felt. They were gentle, but still strong. They held me to the ground and kept me on the earth. They were exactly what I needed.

By the fourth kiss, the fifth, the sixth, I could tell that we were fitting together perfectly. My head fit in the crook of his neck, and his arms were just long enough to wrap around me like wide tree branches. It was after the kissing that I realized it wasn't about kisses for him, it was about _me. _

"I think I'm in love with you," I said, surprising myself with a new confidence. After saying this I felt more vulnerable than I'd ever felt before, like I had stripped myself of clothing and lain before him. I also felt the safest I'd ever felt–the most secure.

I felt his smile on the top of my head. "Funny," he said, "this time last night I was thinking the exact same thing."

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_AN: I'm sorry for the long wait, and I'm really sorry for all the PoV changes. Which point of view would you prefer for future chapters?_

_I'll try to update as frequently as I can, but it gets pretty hard with all the school work, and finals are coming up. _

_I'm writing some stories on FictionPress now. There's a link in my profile, if you want to see some of my original work. _

_Please review. My review numbers have dropped a lot.  
_


	8. Half

_AN: I've been inspired by two songs for this chapter: The Genius Next Door by Regina Spektor and Half of You by Cat Power. Both are great songs that you should definitely take the time to listen to. _

"_Sadness is a gentle mind when you give half of you ... I want all of you."_

Chapter Eight: Half

_[Rosalie]_

By the time the earth had rotated, such that the sun disappeared, I had thought through absolutely everything that conspired since Emmett's apparent demise to the grizzly bear. I compiled a list, too, because I seemed to be doing that more and more often these days.

1. I had saved Emmett, without reason or rhyme as to why. For better or worse, I was stuck with him now. He was my responsibility, the oversized child.

2. I learned that I loved him, in more than the way I loved Royce, and in a much more frightening way, too. It was the sort of love that I wouldn't be able to abandon, and I accepted that.

3. He returned my feelings, and the kiss had a certain chemistry which could certainly not be denied. He was mine, I hoped, to keep with me in a selfish way. I wanted to own him, to keep him all to myself. I wanted to make sure that each kiss meant something.

4. I didn't know what any of this meant to me, how things could change between us, I only knew too well that chemistry could be a dangerous thing indeed.

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_[Edward]_

"I'm going to have to start taking classes, Carlisle. I hope you understand."

He nodded sympathetically, turning back to his book. _I understand completely, _he thought, _it must be hard enough for you in the nighttime with just myself and Esme. I apologize._

"It's not your fault," I whispered. "I was managing a little better before Emmett. Her thoughts are restless in the nighttime now, and she always wants him with her. And he continues to contemplate joining her, but he's very afraid."

_I understand, son. If you need any other help, I won't hesitate. _

"Thank you," I said, and left the room quietly, hoping I wouldn't bump into Rosalie in the hall.

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_[Rosalie] _

I recalled the previous night, and warmth spread through me.

I had been reading one of Edward's books in my room, trying to relax and failing miserably. Strangely I had imagined Emmett doing much the same as he did every night, just sitting outside my door, trying to work out the courage to knock. I wondered what I would do if he _did _enter my room, if I _did _explore the new part of myself that had come to love him. What if.. What if I admitted that I wanted more than his love, but couldn't give him what he wanted?

What if I told him I was scared?

Just then, Edward bumped shoulders with me, nodding towards the living room. It was Emmett's 'home base' as I tended to call it, and I hadn't been able to face him much since the kiss. But if our exchange of glances meant what I thought it did, we couldn't ignore each other for long.

_Do you think..., _I started to ask Edward, in the silent conversation that had become a common thing. _Does he want the same thing I want? _

"Rosalie," he began, "Emmett is not somebody you need to be afraid of. He really... he _loves_ you. And I'm sure it could become what you want, just like the love Esme and Carlisle have for each other. If _they _hadn't taken that chance, they wouldn't be together now."

That the blessing I needed from my brother. The cold, hard truth, and the good truth. He knew that I needed to know I was safe in Emmett's hands. Those words were the ones that would change everything for me, set me towards someone I could really _be _with in every sense of the word. And Edward knew, certainly, that there would be no stepping back from what I was about to do.

----

"I think you may have" –he mock coughed– "Broken something."

I laughed, surveying his body. "That's impossible. Vampires can't break bones."

He motioned towards what had been the arm of a couch that we'd passed on our way to the guest "bedroom". I suspected that Edward had put the actual bed there when he suspected this would happen. He was very perceptive like that, but it was the territory that came with being a mind-reader, and something that I'm sure he'd rather live without.

"I meant the couch," he said. "The bed. The vase. The window. The... _wall._"

I shrugged, looking away from him. "I hope they love us, because I think it would take a lot of money to fix these things."

His gaze turned soft. "We could get our own house, you know, to save them the damage."

----

If I hadn't loved Emmett as much as I did, I never would've trusted him with each and every part of me. It had been difficult explaining to him that my virginity was not something I could offer him, that I had nothing left. It was even more difficult persuading him that I was wrong for him, when he was sure we were completely _right. _

And oddly enough, the more he said we were supposed to be together, the more I believed him.

It wasn't that I thought Emmett and I were soul-mates or something, but it wasn't as if I could go back to Rochester and leave him, either. There was no _way _I could leave him, even to go as far as get up from the bed. That was part of the problem, I considered, getting so attached to him when he might lose interest. This was so foreign to me, like opening my eyes underwater without knowing what I'd see.

It was _unknown, _but I knew I couldn't live without it. Without him.

We weren't soul-mates, but we were both in the right place at the right time.

It made everything easier thinking of how sweet Emmett had been with me. From the moment I went over to him, he knew why I was there and what I was trying to accomplish. Granted, he must have excellent self control because he didn't take advantage of me.

It was ridiculous how emotion could become tangible in the air when two 'people' were feeling the exact same thing. It was a mixture of love and lust, of acceptance and trust, and the warring parts of us that were screaming, 'to hell with conversation'!

The great thing was that we spoke anyway, despite what our bodies were telling us. He told me about how he'd never expected me to be a virgin because he wasn't, and love meant something different when you had nothing to give up anymore. I was different to him, he'd explained, because he had never wanted me physically _first. _

Love meant something different when you thought all your love had been taken away. It had been stolen –conned, snatched, robbed– but I had been happy to give the remainder, however small it was, to Emmett. And no, he couldn't bring life back to me, but he could make death a whole lot easier. I just hoped that he would protect the tiny part of me that was left, because I had nothing else.

I don't know when it was, exactly, that we both broke down. Maybe it was he'd said that he didn't want half of my story, half of everything that I was. I couldn't live with knowing that he wanted, needed, more from me. I wanted all of him.

"Rosalie," Emmett whispered from my side, wrapping his arm around my waist. "Stop thinking so much. It kills me when you do that."

"I'm only thinking about..." I forced a smile. "I'm sorry. You know how I get. It's just that I'm still not sure this is right for you."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Do you think I would have let this happen if I wasn't sure we both wanted this? Rose, I'm in love with you. So just drop it, okay."

I stammered. "What did you just say?"

"I'm in love with you," he said confidently, his head raising slightly.

"I few days ago we both _thought _we were in love, and now we _know _it? This isn't something I can easily get used to," I murmured, resting my head on his shoulder.

"I'm not going to give you the time to get used to it," he said, and we began our route back to the bed, kissing the entire way. This time I was completely sure I would never be able to get over him if he let me go.

----

_[Edward]_

_Perhaps we should get them a house, _I heard Esme think, slightly irritated. _I do love Rosalie, but she could stand to use a little bit more restraint when it comes to destroying the place. Not that it's not partially Emmett's fault as well, but he doesn't care so much about our home since he hasn't been here as long..._

Carlisle was thinking about buying them a permanent hotel suite with maids and everything to clean after them, which I have to admit wasn't a bad idea.

Since they'd assessed the damage that Rosalie and Emmett had caused to the bedroom they'd installed for if anything like this were to happen. Of course, it was beyond much repair and they were slightly irritated. After Esme got over the initial joy that they'd finally gotten together, she realized the sort of loud, obnoxious couple they were becoming.

The vampires I'd known before them had at least _tried _to keep their lovemaking quiet. It was difficult, of course, but it's necessary when you live in a house with others to be respectful. Especially when _one _of them can already hear your indecent thoughts.

Rosalie and Emmett were different, of course. They'd waited a long time to get to the point where they could completely trust each other. Especially Rosalie, with her multitude of issues trusting men. This was why when they got to that point it was all or nothing, no going back. And they _certainly _weren't thinking about anyone else when they got in bed with each other. Sure, it was a bit selfish, but they were family.

----

"Want to play?" Emmett was holding a baseball, tossing it back and forth between his hands. He really was the youngest brother of our family, even if he looked much older than me.

"I'm not sure," I said slowly. We each had obvious throwing speed that far exceeded the average human who played the game. That meant increasing the field size, and adding several yards between each base. What would we use for bases? Bats?

He laughed, and I must admit it was a comforting sound. "When was the last time you played any sports at all?"

"It's been a while," I admitted, "but I was always focused on my academics and my music when I was human. And of course, I enjoy running, although I do sometimes miss the thrill of competition."

He patted me on the back, grinning ear to ear. "Well look no further. I am now going to be your constant source of competition." _and irritation, _he finished silently.

I have to admit, having a brother around was a different experience for me. I didn't have any siblings as a human, and Carlisle had been my only companion for a long time. He was much more mature, and looked upon me as an equal, whereas Emmett looked on me as someone to compete with, to be better than.

Rosalie was like my sister, but having a sister was a lot different than having a brother. Despite the obvious differences, Rosalie was much more reserved and in the beginning hadn't wanted anything to do with me at all. Emmett wanted to constantly be in my business, asking my opinion and taking me with him to have hunting competitions.

Most irritating of all, Emmett was a newborn, which meant that he could _easily _beat me at any contest he suggested. It was in this way that he tried to earn my respect. And, in some ways, he had already earned it. But there was one thing I had that Emmett didn't, and it was something he desperately wanted: Rosalie's thoughts.

She had, of course, opened up to him much more than anybody in the past. She'd told him about Rochester, her days when Royce was her dream, and all the pain that followed her realization that he had been obsessed with her body. She explained her fear of drunken men, even though humans could cause her no harm any longer. She also craved control, she told him, control in every way she could. But even though she opened up about her past, she found it hard –maybe even harder– talking about the present.. And what she'd hoped to have as a future.

"What is this great _thing _that she wants?" Emmett asked me, thoroughly confused. "I can see it in her eyes, you know, that she wants something besides just _me._"

"Emmett, she was _raped!_" I snapped, spitting out the dirty-word. "She wants it all back again! Life, humanity, whatever the hell you call it! She wants to go back to before it happened, and live her dream life the way it was supposed to happen, when she could have a child, a family, _love. _God, she loves you Emmett, but she _wants _her life back."

He just stood there, stunned, his mind working at a snail's pace.

"That _thing _she wants is a child, your child preferably but any would do," I continued. "It's the same thing that Esme's wanted since hers died, but Esme was happy adopting _us. _Rosalie wants living, breathing, flesh and blood. In her eyes, it was a shame that Royce got around to killing her before she could have had his baby."

I heard Emmett's audible swallow as he looked away from me, eyes drooping and mouth pursed.

"I apologize," I tried. "I really wanted her to explain it to you on her own time. I didn't want you to find out like this.."

"It's quite alright," he snapped, heading back inside the house. "And for the record, she already told me what Royce did to her. You're not the only one who knows. Some of that may have been news to me, but _God, _did you have to be so insensitive? I don't have to be a genius like _you_ to know what jealousy looks like."

I winced as the door slammed shut.

----

_AN: there it was, chapter eight. Please go listen to the two songs I listed at the beginning of the chapter. Also, I have a new __**poll**__ I'd like you to vote in. _

_A word to __**anonymous reviewers**__, please look to my livejournal. I've written something there just for you, especially "spaceout474" and others of you who tend to send demanding messages. I would really like all anon. reviewers to read that entry, the link is in my profile. _

_Expect updates no sooner than every __**two to three weeks**__, and possibly later than that. I'm sorry, but I have other things to do, and other stories to update. If you want to read some of my original work, the link to __**fictionpress**__ is in my profile, and I'd appreciate some readers. _

_Please __**review**__. Also, think about what you're writing in a review before you do. I'm a teenager, I have a part-time job, friends, family, and a boyfriend. I'm trying to balance my life and I need time to just be me. Demanding that I update is not a good review. Try to go through the chapter and think of things you liked or hated! I will accept this and definitely write you a reply._


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